Falling Slowly
by rentAgleek
Summary: It's Berlin, 1940 and the Nazis are taking over. Rachel and Jesse are happy. Kurt and Blaine are happy. Then everything starts changing. WARNING: contains very dark events based on reality. note: there has been confusion: this story is not affiliated with Spring Awakening in any way please read, I suck at summaries
1. I Want You

**_New story!_**

**_Don't worry I haven't given up on my others, this is just an idea I had and I just had to write it_  
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**_Obviously chapters will be way longer than this - I generally do 2500-3500 words per chapter - this is just the prologue to set it up_**

**_A lyric associated with the theme of the chapter appears at the end of each chapter. When beginning to write this, I was on a total Once kick, so all the lyrics are from Once, as is the title_**

**_Please review if you like it and I will publish the first actual chapter_**

**_Enjoy!_**

* * *

**Prologue**

**Berlin, 1940**

'This is perfect,' Rachel signed blissfully. She and Jesse were on the roof of his apartment building, lying on a nest of blankets and pillows taken from Jesse's parents' room. 'Mm, I know,' he agreed. 'School's over until September,' he said, grinning. Rachel laughed. 'Don't you have to go to summer school in August? You know, because you failed the mathematics exam?' she asked him playfully. Jesse frowned at her in mock anger. 'I was trying not to think about that,' he told her, but then they both laughed. 'So. What do you want to do?' he asked her. Rachel closed her eyes, feeling the hot June sun dancing across her face. 'Nothing. I just want to lie here and do nothing,' she said lazily. 'Sounds like a plan,' Jesse agreed. The two teenagers listened to the busy city below them; cars and trams on the roads, children on bicycles and scooters on the pavements. A chorus of excited screams and manic laughter floated up to them, and the smoky scent of a thousand barbeques lingered in the air. It was that beautiful, unmistakable scent of summer. 'You know,' Rachel said as she curved her body into Jesse's, 'I think this is going to be an unforgettable summer.' She was right.

* * *

'We can hold hands now,' Kurt said happily as they turned the corner. Blaine smiled, lacing his fingers with Kurt's. This was the safe part of the city. Homosexuality wasn't quite legal yet, but was becoming tolerated in some places, and in this area was practically encouraged. The boys arrived at a bar, slipping inside before the doorman could see them. As they sat down at a small, secluded table in the back, Kurt checked his watch. 'It's half past four. I don't need to be home for another four whole hours,' he told Blaine suggestively, who leaned in and kissed Kurt deeply. He had been desperate to do this all day. Kurt closed his eyes, breathing in Blaine in. That sweet musk was like a drug to him. 'Let's get a drink,' Blaine whispered, breaking away briefly. 'In a moment,' Kurt murmured, tugging Blaine forwards and kissing him again. After another minute, Blaine walked over to the bar, winking at Kurt, who sighed happily. Before he met Blaine, summer had always been mundane, duller than a Latin lesson. But, as Kurt watched his boyfriend instructing the barmaid, he had a feeling that this summer was going to be very different. He was right.

* * *

_- I want you all the more -_

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**_So...what do you think? Please review. You should probably know that the story is going to get extremely dark as it progresses._**

**_REVIEW!_**


	2. Erase Me

**_Wow, so many people subscribed! Ok so this is a pretty long chapter. Please enjoy and REVIEW or I won't continue_**

**Chapter One**

'It's just too hot!' Rachel exclaimed.

Jesse laughed at his girlfriend. 'Why don't we sit down over here? I'll get us some juice,' he said, as Rachel smiled at him thankfully. He leaned in to kiss her gently.

'You are a wonderful boyfriend,' she told him as they parted. Rachel sat down under a large, shady tree. The park was one of her favourite parts of Berlin. She glanced around at the countless children running, jumping, laughing. Sighing, Rachel wished that she could be a child again. Innocent and blissfully ignorant.

Jesse returned holding two cups of orange juice from the refreshment stall. 'Thank you,' Rachel said, leaning into his shoulder. They sat against the tree, sipping quietly for a few moments. 'I need to tell you something,' she said.

'I'm listening,' Jesse said.

'I got a letter this morning. It said that we won't be attending the same school next term; I have to go to a different school. It says that – that I'm not allowed to go to our school anymore,' she told him.

'What do you mean? Why?' Jesse asked, already fearing he knew the answer.

'Because I'm Jewish, Jesse,' she told him sadly.

They sat in silence, Rachel suddenly feeling cold despite the scorching heat. 'It's starting, isn't it?' she asked him, trying not to cry.

Jesse pulled her closer. 'I'm not going to let them. I won't let them get to us,' he promised, but inside he was doubtful he would be able to stay true to his word. He sighed. 'I just don't see why your religion should matter. Why should it be a reason to treat you differently, to treat you like you're less of a person than everyone else?' he wondered.

Rachel shrugged. 'I don't know, Jesse. But that's the way it is,' she said.

'It shouldn't. It shouldn't be like this,' he said firmly.

* * *

The package arrived a week or so later. Kurt took it into his room excitedly, assuming his aunt had finally remembered his birthday present. They boy ripped the brown paper away quickly, letting the contents fall onto his bed. He gasped, shocked at what he saw. It was a triangle. A pink triangle, made of cheap cloth. Alongside it was a letter and instructions. Kurt read them in horror, tears filling his eyes. He had to sew this triangle onto his clothes and wear it, everywhere he went, so that he could be 'identified' by others.

Kurt went over to his window, where he could see Blaine at work, cleaning the windows of the apartments opposite. 'Blaine! Blaine!' He managed to cry out before the tears overcame him. The boy turned, seeing Kurt. Kurt could no longer speak, but Blaine saw his boyfriend shaking with tears and that was enough. He climbed down the ladder and ran across the street, narrowly avoiding hitting a cyclist. Blaine pounded up the stairs, two at a time, arriving at Kurt's front door within moments. Kurt's father answered and allowed Blaine to come into the apartment. He was under the impression that the boys were just friends. Quickly muttering his thanks, Blaine walked down the hall into Kurt's room.

His boyfriend was curled up in the corner, tears streaming down his face. Blaine immediately crossed the room to hold Kurt. The boy whimpered, clutching Blaine close to him. 'What is it?' he asked softly. Kurt pointed wordlessly to his bed. Blaine raised his eyebrows, surprised. 'Erm, I don't think that's such a good idea, not whilst you're in this state. Besides, your father is just down the hall,' Blaine said.

Kurt laughed weakly in spite of his tears. 'No, silly,' he murmured, reaching over and picking up the triangle, passing it to Blaine, who took it and sighed sadly.

'Ah,' he said in understanding.

Kurt frowned. 'You know what this is?' he asked.

Blaine nodded. 'Mine came two days ago,' he confessed.

'Why didn't you tell me? And why aren't you wearing it?' Kurt asked.

'I didn't want to worry you. And I'm not wearing it because I don't have to,' he said defiantly.

'Are you insane? Of course you have to wear it! Look,' Kurt said incredulously, grabbing the letter with its official Reichstag seal. 'I'm pretty sure the Fuhrer ordered this himself,' he told Blaine.

'I know. And that's why I'm not wearing it. I'm not going to let them brand me, I'm not going to let a stupid little pink triangle define me. If someone asks why I'm not wearing it, I'll tell them they made a mistake, I'll tell them I'm not a homosexual. I have a friend, she said that she'd lie for me, you know, say that her and I are together,' Blaine said.

'So you're going to lie about who you are?' Kurt said.

'It's not like that, Kurt. Look, you can't tell anyone about this. I shouldn't really be telling you,' he began.

'Tell me what? And I can keep a secret,' Kurt asked.

Blaine considered, then decided it would be safe to tell Kurt a few small details. 'Well…some nights, me and a few others go to this – well, I suppose you could call it a bar. And we talk, and we hear others talking. We listen to a secret radio. The things we hear…it's awful, Kurt, truly. It's disgusting, the things that the Fuhrer is planning. For us, and for the Jews, the mentally disabled and the gypsies too. It's already started,' Blaine said.

'You mean with these?' Kurt asked, gesturing to the triangle.

Blaine nodded. 'This is just the beginning, for us. The homosexuals have to wear a pink triangle and the Jews have to wear a yellow star. It's to make them stand out. The next stages are fairly uncertain, although I do know that wearing one of their minority markers will make life very difficult. There's rumour that we won't be allowed to go to restaurants, cinemas, cafés. We will probably be barred from riding the trams,' Blaine explained. 'Do you know what Hitler's already started doing? To – to children,' he began, voice shaking in anger.

Kurt shook his head, allowing Blaine to continue. 'He's taking the children who have disabilities and locking them up in so-called hospitals. The parents think they're going to get better, but they never see their children again. He – he kills them, and makes it look like an accident. There was a baby taken last week, just eighteen months old,' Blaine said, his face disgusted at the memory.

Kurt was looking horrified. 'How can he be allowed to do that?' he asked.

Blaine shook his head. 'I don't know. He's the Fuhrer. He's allowed to do whatever he wants,' he said dully.

There was a short pause. 'But Blaine, if they're treating people like that – then what are they going to do to us?' Kurt asked fearfully.

'I don't know. But I think it's going to be worse,' Blaine told him.

Kurt's tears, which hadn't really stopped, began flowing again, and Blaine held him tight, desperately trying to keep his own tears from appearing. He had to be strong for the both of them.

* * *

Jesse took Rachel's hand as the couple walked through the street. She was very quiet, which was unusual for her. 'Are you alright?' he asked.

Rachel nodded. 'I'm as alright as I can be,' she said. Rachel looked around the square, full of people. Around half of them had a yellow star stitched onto their clothing, making them stand out. Rachel fingered her own star, which clashed with her pink shirt. Jesse saw this and pulled her into a firm hug. He hated what they were doing to Rachel. It was completely wrong on every level. Just last week, her father's shop had been burned to the ground.

Jesse shook his head angrily. 'That star doesn't make me see you any differently,' he told her, trying to make her feel better.

Rachel gave him a tiny, forlorn smile. 'That's very sweet Jesse, but not everybody thinks like you do,' she said.

'Well they should. And if you ever meet somebody who doesn't, then they aren't worth knowing,' he told her firmly.

'I guess you're right,' Rachel considered.

'I'm always right,' Jesse said. Rachel laughed, and he joined in, happy that she was finally enjoying herself. Rachel leaned into Jesse as they continued down the street, and he gently kissed the top of her head.

They walked silently for a few minutes. 'Rachel, listen to me,' Jesse said as they sat on a bench. 'You can't let it get to you. You have to rise above it all. You are not worthless, or lesser, or different. You are the same as everyone else; you're equal. Don't let them win. If you walk around with your head high and a smile on your face, they'll know they can't get to you. Besides, that would really annoy the stupid Fuhrer,' Jesse told her, whispering the last part very quietly. You never knew who was listening.

Rachel smiled, then heard someone approaching the bench, behind them. She turned, seeing one of the many Nazi officers who patrolled the streets looking down at her distastefully.

'Hey, you. You are not permitted to use this bench,' he ordered gruffly.

Rachel sighed. This sort of thing had begun happening more and more. Normally she just nodded and didn't say anything, blindly following their orders, but not this time. 'Why? Why can't I sit here? I've been walking for several hours and my legs hurt. There are people sitting on benches all over the square. So why can't I?' she asked. Rachel knew the answer, of course she did, but she still wanted to challenge him.

The man laughed at her. 'You stupid bitch, you really don't know?' he said.

Jesse's hands clenched into fists but Rachel laid a hand on his arm, not wanting the situation to get violent. 'I really don't know. Please, enlighten me,' she said, speaking calmly, but Jesse could hear a tiny quaver in her voice which he knew masked fear.

'You're not sitting there because you're a fucking Jew, that's why,' the officer told her, then yanked her up forcefully by the arm. Rachel stifled a cry of pain as she was thrown to the ground.

Jesse glared at the Nazi. 'What do you think you're doing?' he shouted.

'Jesse, no, don't,' Rachel begged. She dreaded to think what would happen if he spoke out against the Nazis.

The officer stared Jesse down. 'Listen, boy. You're lucky it's my mother's birthday today, and she'd be sad if I did the things to you that I'm picturing in my head. So you and your filthy little girlfriend are going to find somewhere else to sit. That's an order,' he told him.

Jesse stared back at the man. He wanted to yell at this man, God, he wanted to throw this man to the ground and kick his head in for what he was doing to Rachel. He wanted to shoot this man in the cock and balls fifty times for the way he was making Rachel feel. But he didn't. Because Jesse knew that violence was not the way to fight these people. Real impact, real hurt, real war and real change would happen quietly and slowly. He was better than the Nazis. He would not sink to their level. Never.

So he held the man's gaze for several minutes. Then he spoke very calmly, almost too calmly. 'Come on, Rachel. This man has asked us to leave,' to which Rachel thankfully pulled herself off the ground and took his hand.

She clutched it, relieved, as the Nazi walked away. Jesse turned to look at her. 'Are you alright?' he murmured quietly, for the second time that day.

Rachel nodded shakily. She buried her head in his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. 'Ssh,' Jesse whispered, stroking her, kissing her hair. They stayed like that for a few minutes, until Rachel had calmed down.

'Come on. I'll buy you some ice cream,' he said gently. Rachel gave him a small smile. Jesse always knew the right thing to do. They walked down a side street to their favourite ice cream parlour. It was the place that Jesse and Rachel had gone on their first date, almost two years ago. It had cheerful pink lettering on the front, and people sat on tables outside, talking and laughing as they ate their icy treats.

Rachel finally allowed herself to properly smile. 'Thank you. This…this is perfect, Jesse,' she said, leaning up to kiss him softly. Jesse smiled into the kiss, then took her hand and they stepped inside.

A wonderful smell hit Rachel as she entered and she breathed it in steadily, finally feeling calm. A waitress walked over to her, a waitress they had seen hundreds of times before, wearing a pink candy striped apron and a bright smile. As she approached Jesse and Rachel, the smile faltered. 'I'm sorry Miss, but I'm not allowed to serve you,' she said apologetically.

That was the final straw for Rachel. She felt her eyes fill with tears, and her eyes fell upon a sign above the counter. 'Kein Juden', it read. She looked at the yellow star on the sign, then at the yellow star on herself. She sobbed loudly, not caring what anybody thought anymore.

'I'm sorry, I truly am,' the waitress said, beginning to cry herself.

'It's not your fault,' Jesse said. It was true; the Nazis were behind this. The waitress had no choice.

'No,' Rachel protested. 'No. This isn't fair! This is my favourite place in the city. This is the one place I wanted, the one place I needed. Can't there just be one single place that I can go and not feel defined by this stupid gold star?' she cried.

There was a pause. The waitress was looking at Rachel sympathetically, and suddenly an idea flew into her head. The waitress stepped behind Jesse to the small rail of hooks upon which hung hats and coats and the like. She plucked out a small white cardigan, holding it out to Rachel. 'This is mine. Put it on to cover yourself and come sit in the back,' she told her.

Rachel gasped in shocked disbelief. 'Thank you. Thank you so much,' she said, pulling it on and making sure her star was hidden from view.

The waitress showed them to a small, secluded table. 'You are a truly wonderful person,' Jesse thanked her.

Rachel nodded in agreement, wiping away her tears. 'I'm sorry for my outburst back there – it's just, that was the fifth time this week, that I've been told I can't go somewhere, that I can't do something. And I just had a run in with a Nazi,' she said.

The waitress' eyes widened. 'Oh my,' she said, patting Rachel's shoulder comfortingly.

'I'm Rachel and this is my boyfriend, Jesse,' she told her after a pause.

The waitress nodded, smiling. 'I'm Quinn,' she introduced herself.

A different waitress bought their ice creams over. Quinn must have made them, however, because the sundaes were labelled 'Rachel' and 'Jesse', in chocolate sauce, and were truly enormous. They talked as they ate, finally managing to forget about all the trials of today and discussing mundane topics, both of them enjoying the dull normality. It made a nice change.

Jesse reached the second layer of his sundae and frowned, perplexed. He glanced up, seeing Quinn watching him from across the room. He was about to mouth something to her, but Quinn shook her head and pointed at Rachel (who couldn't see her) and put a finger to her lips in warning. Jesse glanced back down at the sundae. There was a message written in butterscotch sauce, which had been hiding under a wafer. He nodded at what Rachel was saying, and tried to read it without being obvious. It said:

_Jesse. Come back here at half past midnight. Go to the back door and knock seven times. There's something you need to do. DO NOT tell Rachel; it's not safe. Eat this as soon as you have read it. Quinn._

He quickly memorised the information and then ran his spoon across the message, distorting it, and then swiftly ate it. They left the café not long after. Jesse was happy because Rachel was happy. But he was also filled with a nervous excitement about what tonight would bring.

* * *

'So I guess we won't be seeing Snow White,' Kurt said as they left the cinema.

Blaine sighed. He desperately wanted to hold Kurt and tell him everything was alright – but they were in the middle of the city, and not the safe part. The two of them couldn't even hold hands. Kurt had just been told that he wasn't allowed into the cinema. Why? The pink triangle.

Kurt hated it. His father had thrown him out of the house when he saw Kurt wearing it. Kurt couldn't do anything anymore. Along with the Jews, homosexuals were not allowed to ride trams or own a bicycle, so he walked everywhere. They were not allowed to eat in restaurants, drink in cafés or visit museums or shops, and now the cinema had been taken away from him too. But Kurt never showed any sign of all of this bothering him – in public.

In private, when it was just him and Blaine, Kurt would cry and Blaine would usually end up crying too. Kurt hated the way that the triangle made everything change, made everyone see him differently. Blaine hated seeing his boyfriend feel like this. Sometimes, Blaine secretly felt glad that he himself had decided against wearing the triangle. He would never say this to Kurt, and he always regretted thinking it as soon as the thought entered his head.

But in his relief, Blaine felt scared at not knowing what was going to happen to Kurt. He knew something big was coming, he just didn't know what. And if Blaine was wearing a triangle too, he'd always be there with Kurt to find out and be by his side. But Blaine shook these thoughts out of his head as they finally reached the secluded part of Berlin where he and Kurt could be who they truly were. Blaine took Kurt's hand, stopping him from walking any further, and took Kurt in his arms, holding him tightly.

They leaned against the wall, and Kurt nuzzled into Blaine's chest, letting a few tears fall. They stayed still for a few moments, Blaine holding him.

'Can we go inside?' Kurt murmured through his tears, pointing at the small guest house opposite. Blaine nodded, and they entered. The landlady recognised the boys, and she gave Kurt a sympathetic pat on the shoulder when she saw his triangle, before passing Blaine a key knowingly. They thanked her and began to walk up the stairs, which creaked painfully with each step they took.

As they found their room, Blaine unlocked the door and Kurt immediately collapsed onto the small bed. Blaine made sure the door was locked before joining his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around Kurt and planting small kisses in his hair. He didn't ask Kurt if he was alright because he knew that Kurt wasn't alright, not at all.

After a few minutes, Kurt began slowly removing his shirt.

'We don't have to, not tonight,' Blaine whispered. 'Don't feel as if you have to,' he told Kurt.

'I want to be close to you – I need to be with you, I need to hear your heart beating, I need to feel you all over me. I just…please, Blaine,' he whispered.

Blaine consented, pressing his lips to Kurt's. Kurt closed his eyes and felt nothing but Blaine. He sighed, tasting his boyfriend as Blaine slipped his tongue into his mouth. Somehow they were both naked within moments, and Blaine prepared to enter Kurt, as he had done countless times before.

'Wait,' Kurt said softly, putting a hand on Blaine's arm to stop him.

'What's wrong?' Blaine asked, concern in his eyes.

Kurt looked up at his amazing, beautiful, perfect boyfriend and smiled. 'Blaine…I love you,' he told him, gently moving his hand down Blaine's arm so they could clasp hands.

Blaine smiled back at him, feeling a lump in his throat. 'I – I love you too. So much,' Blaine returned, leaning forwards and placing a clumsy, happy kiss on Kurt's lips. They looked into each other's eyes for a moment, hardly daring to believe that this was happening.

'Resume?' Kurt requested after a moment, smirking a little, to which Blaine chuckled.

'With pleasure, my love,' he said, loving the way the words tasted in his mouth.

Afterwards, Kurt was sleeping, and Blaine was anxiously lying awake, waiting. Tonight was the night.

After waiting for what felt like a very long time, he quietly crept out of bed and checked the tiny clock that hung on the wall. It was a few minutes after midnight. Blaine's heart jolted and he silently pulled his clothes back on. He couldn't leave a note for Kurt; if discovered, it would be too dangerous, on so many levels. Hopefully he would be back before Kurt noticed he was gone.

Blaine walked quickly through the streets, a hat tugged over his head, and he made his way to the place.

There were a few Nazi officers around – but there were also many people walking through the streets; it was Berlin, after all. So Blaine was hardly alone in taking a midnight stroll. Nonetheless, he kept his head bowed all the way.

Finally, he turned down a small side street, and saw the ice cream parlour at the end of the street. Blaine checked his watch; nearly half past. Glancing over his shoulder, he went to the back door and knocked seven times.

* * *

_- moods that take me, and erase me, and I'm painted black -_

* * *

**_What did you think? I hope you liked it...?_**

**_A few things you need to know about this chapter_**

**_1. the Reichstag is the German congress/parliament_**

**_2. the Fuhrer is Hitler, the leader_**

**_3. the gold stars and pink triangles and the Nazis on the street etc is all true, as is the barring of certain people from cafes, restaurants, cinemas, trams etc - all of that happened in Nazi Germany_**

**_4. veganism was practically unheard of at the time this is set, so Rachel is vegetarian. I normally hate it when people write fics and say she's veggie, not vegan, but as this needs to be historically accurate, she honestly wouldn't have been vegan in 1940. vegetarianism was very rare too, but for the purposes of this story, she's veggie. I have nothing against veganism - I'm vegan myself - and in my other stories that feature Rachel, she's vegan (except Brokeback Blesse because of the time that is set) so please don't be offended or anything that she ate ice cream. if this was a contemporary fic she'd be eating soy ice cream but that didn't exist back then_**

**_5. I have a rule that I don't make it a priority to update unless there are some reviews, so if you want more then you'd better REVIEW!_**


	3. One Love

**_Right, sorry for the slight delay, I just kept writing and writing...so this is a REALLY long chapter, thus hopefully worth the wait._  
**

**_Remember to REVIEW, or I don't update._**

**_Thank you so much to all of you wonderful lovely beautiful people who reviewed and subscribed. Please continue to do so, every review I get just inspires me to write!_**

**_Anyway, I've rambled for long enough. READ! ENJOY! REVIEW!_**

**Chapter Two**

Jesse stood outside the ice cream parlour, shivering a little from the cold. Or maybe it was nerves. But he quickly shook off that idea; Jesse St James didn't get nervous. Ever. He knocked.

After a moment, he heard the click of a lock and the door opened a few inches. Quinn stood there, smiling in relief when she saw it was him. 'Jesse! You came,' she said excitedly, letting him enter before quickly locking the door again.

'Well, your message was intriguing and my curiosity got the better of me,' he said, smiling at her.

Quinn laughed. 'I'm glad it did, you really need to be here. I'm not expecting anyone else, so if there's another knock on that door…I, um…well let's not think about that,' she said, looking a little frightened at the prospect.

Jesse frowned, perplexed. 'What exactly is going on here?' he asked, glancing around at the dark, empty café. Quinn gestured for him to follow her, and they walked to the very back of the room.

She went behind the counter where the enormous freezer cabinet sat, containing every flavour of ice cream imaginable. Jesse was confused and now a little worried; what if this was a trap? Quinn reached down the front of her shirt, looking for something. Jesse hurriedly looked away out of politeness, but then became paranoid that she had bought him here to seduce him. Beginning to formulate an apology in his head, Quinn laughed at his awkwardness and rolled her eyes.

'Don't be silly, Jesse, I'm not trying to have sex with you' she said. Jesse's eyes widened at her candid language. He knew all about sex – well, as much as he could know from books and exploring his own body. He was yet to actually have sex. It was not customary to have sex at the age of seventeen.

'You're rather…well, explicit, aren't you?' he said to Quinn, who had now retrieved a key from her bra. She grinned.

'Well I suppose you could say that. I don't talk in long fancy metaphors. I just say it. And life's too short. I don't see the point in waiting around for something so wonderful,' she explained.

'You mean you've…you've had…been with…,' Jesse fumbled over his question. Quinn placed a hand on his shoulder to silence him. 'Don't be embarrassed to ask about the most human of experiences. Yes, I've had sex. I've been with three people,' she said casually.

Jesse was stunned. The girl in front of him looked no older than sixteen. The most he and Rachel had done was kissing.

'Sorry. I forget that not everyone is as casual as I am,' she apologised. Jesse shook his head.

'No, forgive me for reacting like that. It's just, I've never been with anyone – sexually – and you've been with three men already!' he said, still trying to wrap his head around the fact.

Quinn laughed. 'I said three _people._ I didn't specify anything further,' she winked at him.

Jesse's mouth dropped open and he closed it hurriedly. He'd read about homosexuality, but had never come across it in real life. 'You mean you're a, um, a – ,' he began, but Quinn stopped him.

'All in good time,' she said, then her tone became more serious. 'Jesse, what I'm about to show you is top secret. You cannot tell anyone, because this is dangerous, seriously dangerous,' she told him. 'If those Nazis outside knew what we were doing in here…they wouldn't hesitate to kill us,' she whispered.

Jesse felt the nerves trying to creep back up again, but he pushed them firmly away, and tried to speak calmly. 'So what's going on, here? What's so top secret?' he asked Quinn, who was now fumbling with the key in her hands. There was a pause whilst she thought.

'I suppose we've spent enough time chit chatting. I'll show you,' she said, reaching down. Quinn opened the top of the ice cream cabinet, and lifted out a large tub of strawberry flavour.

'I'm not hungry,' Jesse said, now beginning to feel even more confused and a little sceptical. She rolled her eyes.

'No, silly. Look,' Quinn pointed. Jesse leaned closer, and noticed a tiny keyhole which the ice cream tub had previously been concealing. She slipped the key into the lock and turned it. Jesse then felt something bump gently into his leg. Glancing down, he saw that the bottom of the cabinet had swung open, like a door. Jesse crouched down to look more closely, and felt a thrill of excitement; it was a secret passage, stairs leading towards something he couldn't see.

Quinn took his hand and steered him down the steps, closing the door behind them. The passage was dark, but not cold, and gradually Jesse's eyes adjusted. He heard a sultry, bluesy sound drifting up the steps. 'Is that…jazz music?' he asked, appreciating the lazy beats and moaning instruments.

'It is,' Quinn confirmed, not elaborating any further. The music grew louder as they drew closer, soon coming to arrive at a door. She opened it and Jesse's eyes widened in surprise at what he saw.

It seemed to be a…club, maybe? There was a bar at one end, with people and tables scattered about the rest of the room. The lights were dim, and a buzz of chatter filled the air, underscoring the music being played. Jesse took in the small stage, with several musicians and a girl singer crooning into a microphone. She was very thin, with coffee coloured skin and jet black hair, the loose curls flowing down her back. The girl was wearing a dark red dress, shockingly short, and her feet were bare as she closed her eyes and lost herself in the music.

Jesse cast his eyes around the rest of the room. A tall, tanned boy was serving drinks from the bar. He seemed to have lost his shirt, which surprised Jesse. He'd never been to an establishment where the staff were half naked, in fact, he'd never really seen anyone at all, anywhere, who wasn't wearing a full set of clothes.

The people who filled up the rest of the room interested Jesse greatly. There was a small boy with dark curls, sat with a tall blonde girl who had her arm draped around him. At another table was a tall boy with soft blonde hair, nursing a drink.

Most people were glancing at him with some interest – clearly wondering who he was and why he was here – but when they saw that he was with Quinn, their gazes slid off him.

'What is this place?' he asked her in awe.

'You'll find out soon enough,' she said elusively. 'Now, find a seat. We'll be starting in a few minutes,' she said.

'What? Where?' Jesse asked, receiving no answer. He glanced back, only to find that Quinn was no longer by his side. He saw that she had gone over behind the bar, and was wrapping her arms around the tall bartender, who smiled and leaned down to kiss her. Jesse was now thoroughly confused, because he had thought Quinn was a homosexual. No, lesbian – that was the right word, wasn't it? He tried to remember his reading of female sexuality, which was rather limited. Yes, lesbian was the right word, he recalled, originating from the Greek island of Lesbos. So why was she kissing a man? Jesse decided to ask her later, storing the question in the back of his mind.

He then remembered that Quinn had told him to find a seat, and glanced around. People seemed to be sitting in groups, talking to one another. However, Jesse didn't know anyone here, except for Quinn, but she seemed to be somewhat occupied. So he scanned the room, looking for an empty table, and spotted one near the back. Jesse swiftly made his way to it, not wanting to draw more attention to himself.

After a few moments of twiddling his thumbs, he felt someone sit in the chair next to him. It was the singer. 'Hello,' she greeted him.

'Good evening,' he greeted her politely.

'Actually it's morning,' she said playfully, pointing to a large clock on the wall. Jesse saw that it was, indeed, after midnight, which technically made it the morning.

'Oh, well, good morning, then,' he amended. 'Your song was wonderful,' he complimented. She smiled and thanked him. There was a short pause as they looked at each other. She was beautiful, anyone could see that, but upon closer inspection her dress was rumpled and torn in places, her eyes sad and tired. 'I'm Jesse,' he said, extending his hand tentatively.

'Santana,' she returned, shaking his hand and smiling warmly. 'I've not seen you around here before,' she remarked, taking a sip of her drink.

'Quinn invited me, today,' he explained. Santana nodded.

'I see. And did she tell you anything about who we are and what we do here?' she asked him. Jesse shook his head.

'I've been wondering what could be so secret and dangerous,' he said. 'This place – it's not illegal or anything, is it?' he asked warily.

'Yes,' Santana answered casually. Jesse gulped, desperately trying to shake off his nerves yet again. She noticed his expression and hastily clarified. 'Well, by the Nazi's standards, then yes, it's illegal. But by anyone else's standards, it's not. We're doing the right thing, here. If anything, the Nazis are the ones behaving unlawfully,' she said.

That made Jesse feel a little better, but he was still uncertain. Santana continued.

'We are a group called the Swing Youth. We started out because Hitler banned jazz, and initially we just wanted a place we could go where we could play our swing and our jazz without getting arrested. But then, as things worse than our music were taken away from us, this became less of a small alternative group and transformed into a rebel movement. We seek the American and British way of life, we define ourselves through music and freedom instead of through Nazism,' she explained.

Jesse was fascinated by what she was saying. 'Go on,' he urged.

'You're in the Hitler Youth, aren't you?' she asked, but it was more of an assumption.

'Yes. But I don't like it,' he hastily replied. 'We are all forced to attend. If it wasn't compulsory I wouldn't go,' he explained.

'Well, we're the Swing Kids, an alternative to the Hitler Youth. You'll notice that my hair is not in the Fuhrer-approved braids, my dress is short, my nails are painted and my lips are red,' Santana said. Jesse nodded.

'I've never seen girls like you. Or like any of the other girls here,' he commented, glancing around. Indeed, Quinn was in a short skirt with high heels. Her hair was pulled into a messy knot on top of her head, a cigarette perched on her lips. The other girl Jesse had seen was in trousers, which was highly uncommon, and wore flowers in her loose blonde hair.

'Well, we don't want to blend in with the crowd,' she explained.

'So you just come here to sing jazz and be yourselves?' he asked.

'Well, yes. But that's just part of it. In a few moments Quinn will start the meeting and you'll find out,' she said. Jesse nodded. 'Would you like a drink?' Santana asked as she drained the last of hers.

'Yes please,' Jesse said.

'Anything in particular?' she prompted.

Jesse had never drank alcohol before. Well, he'd had champagne at weddings, and the odd sip of wine, but nothing more than that. It wasn't customary for children to drink, but it appeared to be practically encouraged at this place. So he shrugged. 'Surprise me,' he said.

Santana smirked, clearly seeing right through his nonchalance, and sauntered off. Jesse watched as she stopped en route to the bar and draped herself over the blonde girl with flowers in her hair, kissing her deeply. He stared, not in disgust, but simply because he had never seen such a thing before.

Jesse sat back in his chair, fascinated by all of this. These were people he never knew existed – never thought could have existed. And from what Santana had said about the Swing Youth, he still had a lot to learn. There were people of all skin colours here, and different forms of love all around him. They weren't conforming to the Nazis ways, and Jesse was excited that he was here, that he was a part of it.

* * *

'I think you've had enough to drink, Brittany,' Blaine said, carefully taking her glass away. She pouted.

'No…I like it,' she slurred back, leaning close to him. He moved away, screwing his face up in disgust.

'God, you need to do something about your breath,' he said, laughing.

'I think I'll be the judge of that,' said a voice behind him. Blaine turned around, seeing Santana. 'Your song was great,' he said, gesturing at the stage and smiling. Brittany nodded in agreement.

'Yes, it was like rainbows and strawberries,' she said, grinning at Santana. Without further ado, the two girls were kissing. Blaine watched them fondly for a moment before the lonely bitterness kicked in. He wanted more than anything for Kurt to be here. He turned away and told himself that it was for Kurt's own good that he wasn't here, that keeping the Swing Youth a secret was to keep Kurt safe.

He caught the eye of the new boy, across the room. Blaine had seen him arrive with Quinn, so he guessed that the boy wasn't dangerous. Blaine smiled shyly at him, and the boy grinned back. He got up and walked over to where the boy was sitting, leaving the two girls alone.

'I'm Blaine,' he said, holding out his hand, which the boy took.

'Jesse,' he replied. He noticed that Jesse was looking at Santana and Brittany out of the corner of his eye, and Blaine's jaw tightened.

'Do you have a problem with my friends?' he challenged, and Jesse immediately shook his head.

'No, not at all. I just – I've never seen homosexuals before. I mean, lesbians. Well, both,' he stumbled. Blaine laughed.

'It's fine. I was worried that you weren't alright with it for a moment there. Most people who come here had never seen it, or even heard of it at first. Take Sam, for instance,' he said, nodding at Sam, who was talking to Puck at the bar. 'He never even knew two men could kiss and have sex before he came here,' Blaine told Jesse, who looked surprised.

'Really? I've known about homosexuality for a couple of years now. Nobody ever talks about it, so I got it out of books. I asked my father about it once, and he gave me the darkest look you could imagine,' he said. Blaine laughed, remembering the way his parents had reacted when he casually mentioned how handsome he found one of the boys at his school.

He was about to share the memory with Jesse, when Puck began shouting for everyone to be quiet. The band stopped playing abruptly and people ended their conversations, as Santana arrived at the table with several drinks and Brittany. 'I thought you looked like a whisky man,' Santana whispered, passing Jesse a glass of amber liquid.

'Really? I thought he looked like a nice man,' Brittany murmured, to which Jesse chuckled softly. The two exchanged names and then turned their attention to the front of the room. Puck was stood in front of the bar, and Quinn was perched on a stool next to him.

'Let's begin with the song,' Puck said, gesturing to the band, who began to play. Everyone began singing, except for Jesse because he had obviously never heard the song before.

_**Hitler's dictates make us small, we're yet bound in chains. **_

_**But one day we'll again walk tall, no chain can us restrain. **_

_**For hard are our fists, yes! **_

_**And knives at our wrists, for youth to be free, we lay siege.**_

This was repeated several times, and when the music stopped playing Blaine could feel the atmosphere in the room growing more focused and intent. The words of the song meant everything to him. One day, he wanted to be free. And he would do anything to achieve that, not only for himself, but for Kurt too, and millions of others.

Puck cleared his throat. 'As many of you are aware, the euthanasia situation is worsening,' he began. 'They are taking babies as well, now. Newborns,' he explained. Next to him, Quinn began crying quietly. Puck held her hand, and when he continued speaking it sounded like he himself was fighting back tears. 'My – our – daughter, Beth, was taken a fortnight ago, as some of you know. And we received notification that she had 'sadly passed away in her sleep' two days ago,' he said.

Blaine sighed, and there were murmurs of shock and hurt throughout the room. Beth was the sweetest thing he had ever seen, and now she had been murdered. Quinn was sobbing, and spoke, her voice shaking. 'I'm keeping up this façade that I'm happy, that nothing's wrong, but I'm truly miserable…and I never planned to have a child, I was terrified and angry when I realised I was pregnant, but…God, I just loved her so, so much. She was perfect. And they – they took her,' she said. Puck whispered something to her, and she nodded and stood up. 'Please excuse me. I just – I need to collect myself,' she said, flitting out of the room.

'Why would they kill a baby?' Jesse whispered, horrified, to Blaine, who turned to Jesse in disbelief. Then he remembered that Jesse was new here, and probably knew nothing about Hitler's euthanasia centres.

'They take babies and children that have 'problems', and they kill them. But they tell the general public that the deaths were accidents,' he explained. 'Quinn and Puck, they had a baby about a year ago, baby Beth, and like you just heard, she was taken and…well she's dead, now,' Blaine said sadly.

'What was wrong with Beth? What problems did she have?' Jesse asked. Blaine gave a hollow laugh.

'There was nothing wrong with her, nothing at all. She was – she was perfect. But, see, Puck is Jewish. And they hate the Jews. They want to wipe away every trace of Judaism from this country,' he said bitterly. 'They would have taken Puck, too, but he's been hiding here, underneath the café, for several months now. They thought that Beth would be alright as long as nobody knew who her father was, but…well. Quinn will tell you the full story one day, but they found out she had 'the non-German blood' or whatever they call it, and took her,' he finished.

'I understand completely. My girlfriend is Jewish. The way she gets treated…it makes me so angry. And it's getting worse and worse every day. I'm worried for her, and for all the others. Something needs to be done,' Jesse said. Blaine patted his shoulder comfortingly.

'That's why we're here. We're going to stop it,' he told him. Puck continued talking, reaching behind the bar to take out a large rolled-up sheet of paper. He spoke to the room, unrolling the papers and pinning them on the wall so everyone could see. Blaine looked closely, seeing that Puck had some sort of map.

'Initially, we were going to invade the euthanasia centres and bring them down from within. However, we've scrapped that plan because other countries seem to be hearing about them, and Hitler decided to end the euthanasia programme. Thank God,' he said.

'How do you know for sure?' Blaine called out. This wasn't the first time that the Swing Youth had found false information.

'My inside man told me,' Puck said, looking pointedly at Sam, who spoke.

'It's true. America knows, and Hitler's worried Russia will find out too. He's pulled the plug on the whole thing,' Sam confirmed. The room hummed in satisfaction, Blaine too; Sam was one of their greatest advantages but also their greatest threat. If the Nazis found out that he was a double agent, they would not hesitate in torturing Sam until he spilled all their secrets and plans. Blaine just had to hope that Sam's acting skills and Aryan looks would be enough to keep the Nazis fooled.

'What's the new plan?' Brittany asked, eyeing the maps on the wall.

'Our next mission is to bring it down,' Puck said confidently. There were murmurs of confusion throughout the room.

'What do you mean? Bring what down?' Sam asked. Quinn entered the room again, and spoke with a confident anger.

'Everything. The whole fucking thing. The schools, the camps, the hospitals, the Reichstag, Hitler. The end of the third Reich. We're going to tear down the whole reign of terror and bigotry; we're going to make Germany a safe place. A happy place. And when we can hang the heads of Goebbels, Speer, Goering, Himmler, Mengele and Hitler above this bar, with our jazz playing loud…we'll know that we did it,' she finished.

The entire room was stunned into silence. Blaine wanted to do those things, of course he did – but he didn't think that they were achievable. Maybe from a huge army, from thousands of trained soldiers perhaps, but not from a small group of teenagers. Other people were clearly thinking the same thing, but nobody dared speak. Quinn was so determined, and if anyone here had a reason to hate the Nazis, it was her. Puck was the one to break the silence.

'I understand that our mission seems impossible. But we are sure as hell going to try. Yes, we could all die. But I'd rather die trying than never try at all,' he said, and Blaine found himself agreeing. He was going to do this for Kurt, for Beth, for Quinn, for Puck, for Santana, for Brittany, and for all his other friends whose lives were in danger. And even though he felt terrified, he knew he would do it. It was the right thing to do. The only thing he could do.

* * *

Blaine slipped back into the hotel room at around three o'clock in the morning. He carefully slid back in the bed, with Kurt. As he breathed in his boyfriend's heavenly scent, Blaine knew, right there and then, as vanilla and honey consumed him, that he had to fight.

He had almost drifted off to sleep when he heard a commotion downstairs. A woman was crying loudly, and the shouts of several men were gradually growing louder and louder. Blaine began to feel scared, and when he heard someone yelling about 'faggots', his heart jolted. He began shaking Kurt awake.

'Kurt, Kurt, you need to wake up, come on,' he whispered urgently. His boyfriend's eyes fluttered open, and he looked so perfect that it almost broke Blaine's heart.

'What's happening…why is there shouting?' Kurt murmured sleepily. Then something seemed to click in his mind and he sat bolt upright. 'They found us,' he stated simply. Blaine saw tears fill his eyes.

'Please don't cry, Kurt,' he begged, barely holding back his own tears.

'We have to do – we have to do what we agreed on. What we said we'd do if they ever found us,' Kurt told him. Blaine's eyes widened in horror as he remembered a conversation they'd had, almost a year ago.

'No, I can't do that. I can't do that to you,' he told Kurt, shaking his head. But as the footsteps thundered closer and closer, Blaine slowly realised that he had no choice. He took Kurt in his arms, holding him close and tight. They kissed; they kissed harder than ever before, fast and desperate and rough. 'I love you, Kurt,' Blaine whispered, finally saying it. Kurt's face broke into a smile, despite everything.

'I love you too, Blaine. I love you, I love you, I love you,' Kurt murmured. His hand found Blaine's, and they looked at each other for a brief moment. Then the door was forced open.

* * *

The next morning, Jesse went over to Rachel's house, as usual. He let himself in and walked through to the kitchen, intending to cook breakfast to surprise his girlfriend. However, he found Rachel already sitting at the table, her eyes red and swollen from crying. Jesse immediately sat next to her and took her in his arms.

'What's wrong?' he asked her.

'They're sending me to a labour camp,' she said in a tiny whisper. Jesse's heart skipped a beat. He knew what that meant. He had learned a lot after last night, and he knew that if Rachel went to one of those places, she would be lucky to survive.

'You're not going,' he told her simply.

'I have to go. I got a letter this morning. It's compulsory,' she said flatly.

'Then we'll find a way around it…maybe you can hide. We can run away,' Jesse began, but Rachel stopped him.

'I have to go. If I try and avoid it, they'll find me. And then – then I'm not sure what they'll do, but it won't be good,' she explained. There was a pause. Jesse wanted to tell her about the Swing Kids, but he knew that he couldn't. It would be too dangerous.

'Rachel…there are people out there who are going to stop this. They'll save you and they'll stop the Nazis,' he told her. Rachel didn't look convinced, and continued to slouch sadly in her chair.

'When do you have to leave?' Jesse asked.

'Friday,' she answered.

'Right. So we have four days left. They are going to be the most perfect four days of your life,' he told her. Rachel managed to crack a smile.

'Thank you,' she murmured, before leaning over to kiss her boyfriend deeply.

Jesse returned the kiss, savouring every move they made. He knew there weren't many kisses left for them to share.

* * *

'What is going on here?' asked one of the officers who had stormed in. Blaine gulped nervously as he saw their uniforms and guns, pointing right at himself and Kurt. He looked at his boyfriend, who nodded. Blaine hesitated a split second longer before speaking.

'This…this fag forced me to come up here and he kissed me,' he lied, pointing at Kurt. The disgusting word tasted sour in his mouth, and Blaine hated that he'd had to say it.

The officers crossed the room and dragged Kurt off the bed, handcuffing him.

'You can't do this!' the landlady shouted, who was standing in the doorway, trapped behind the men. One of them smirked at her.

'Of course we can. Stupid homos – they aren't people,' the officer sneered at Kurt, who shrank away from him.

Blaine stared into Kurt's eyes as his love was taken away. Their eyes stayed locked until Kurt was out of sight.

He crossed to the window and looked out, seeing Kurt being pushed roughly into a police van and driven away into the night. Blaine collapsed onto the bed, crying loudly and openly. He rolled onto Kurt's side of the bed, and inhaled the scent from the pillow. Kurt. All around him and yet nowhere to be found.

* * *

_- One love. Too many complications. -_

* * *

**_Ok, so I hope you enjoyed it. I know it's really dark in parts, and it will continue to get darker._**

**_A few things:_**

**_1. The Swing Youth (also known as the Swing Kids) was a real thing in Nazi Germany. You can google it._**

**_2. The song they sing is also real; they used to sing it. I've written the English translation so you can understand it, for those of you out there who aren't Deutsch :)_**

**_3. Sam is referred to as Aryan. The Aryan race was a (stupid) thing that Hitler and the Nazis promoted as being the supreme German race. It was basically anyone who had blonde hair, blue eyes and wasn't Jewish, homosexual, mentally disabled or a traveller. It was a pretty sickening idea which you can read all about on the internet if you're curious._**

**_4. The people Quinn refers to - they were some of the biggest and most dangerous people in Hitler's Third Reich. You can google them all if you really want. Goebbells and Mengeles were particularly awful._**

**_5. The euthanasia centres were also, unfortunately, very real and very awful. Again, you can read all about it on wikipedia or some such website. I have only touched on the subject here._**

**_6. The lyric at the end is from a song called Abandoned in Bandon_**

**_That's pretty much it for now, really. But you should know that this story is going to get very, very dark as we progress. Everything I write about in this story is based on true events, just so you know._**

**_Anyways, I've rambled on enough now. PLEASE REVIEW PLEASE REVIEW PLEASE REVIEW!_**


	4. This Sinking Boat

**_Apologies for the delay, I've had some personal stuff that I had to deal with. But I wrote the longest chapter yet to make it up to you...so hopefully this will suffice._**

**_Thank you SO much to everyone who has favourited/reviewed. please continue to do so - reviews help me write faster_**

**_So, enjoy! and REVIEW!_**

**Chapter Three**

* * *

**'We have four days left. They are going to be the most perfect four days of your life'**

* * *

**Day One**

'Ouch,' Kurt muttered, opening his eyes and glancing around blearily. Someone had kicked him in the head. He moved away quickly, seeing a police officer stood over him.

'Get up, fag,' he said, laughing cruelly. Kurt obediently stood up, not wanting to undergo another kicking. As he glanced around, he remembered everything. He remembered being dragged away, and the anguished look on Blaine's face. He remembered being blindfolded and thrown into a police van. He remembered being pushed into the cell. He remembered banging his fists on the door and screaming himself hoarse. He remembered all the horrors. But there was one good thing in the midst of it all. The memory he clung to the most was the moment when Blaine told Kurt that he loved him. Their love was the most important thing. Their love made all the pain worth it.

Kurt was rudely bought back to the present when the policeman grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and pushed him out of the cell. He was then handcuffed and blindfolded by the man. Kurt became frightened; unable to see what was happening and utterly defenceless, he stumbled forwards and fell, his knees colliding painfully with the ground.

He heard cruel laughter, before being dragged along the floor. 'Let me go,' Kurt begged feebly, only hearing more laughter in response. After several minutes, the policeman stopped dragging him, and Kurt could hear nervous murmurs around him. When he was finally freed of his blindfold and handcuffs, he saw that he was now in a large room with about twenty or so other men, all looking rather dishevelled and anxious. Kurt sighed when he realised that he too probably looked like shit, but there was little that could be done about that.

'You're new,' said a voice behind him. Kurt turned, seeing a man next to him. He was tall, with dark hair, although not as dark as Blaine's – no, don't think about Blaine, Kurt told himself firmly.

'Yes, I arrived last night. Wonderful hospitality isn't it?' he said to the boy sarcastically, who laughed.

'I'm Sebastian. I'd shake your hand, but if we touch each other, we're dead. They really hate us homosexuals' he said bitterly.

'I'm Kurt. And still alive, despite being caught in the throes of sodomy last night,' he told Sebastian, whose eyes widened.

'God, you're lucky to be alive, Kurt,' he said sincerely. Kurt shrugged.

'I don't know about that. This place seems awful. Maybe in a few hours I'll wish I was dead,' he mused.

Sebastian considered. 'You're right. It's hell here. But don't ever wish that you were dead. There are too many people that are dead. They've taken too many lives. You have to hope, Kurt, you just have to,' he told him firmly.

Kurt nodded at him gratefully. 'Thank you. Thank you, Sebastian,' he said. There was a short pause, before Kurt asked, 'hasn't anyone ever tried to escape? I mean, we could just walk out of the door, right now,' he speculated, eyeing the open, unguarded door.

'Oh, people have tried. Believe me. And people will try again, and again. But they will never succeed. Look, speak of the devil,' Sebastian said, gesturing to a smaller boy, who was sprinting across the room towards the door. The boy's face was scared, but there was something so hopeful about it that Kurt dared to hope too, just for a moment. Then a gunshot rang out loud and sickeningly clear, and the boy crumpled to the floor, lifeless.

Kurt gasped, horrified, and felt sick with fear. A tear slowly rolled down his cheek, and he turned, distraught, to Sebastian, who was showing no emotion at what they had just seen. 'Don't – don't you feel anything?' Kurt asked incredulously. Sebastian shook his head sadly.

'Torture, abuse, death. You get used to it. Seeing so much of it, every day; it hardens you, makes you immune. This place…it changes you. Soon enough, you won't feel anything either,' he told Kurt.

'I can't imagine being like that. I can't imagine seeing someone murdered before my eyes and not feeling anything. I can't imagine it,' he said.

'I'm angry that they made me this way. My first few days here, I was crying. All the time. Then one day I just stopped. I'm not quite sure how, or why, or even when, exactly. But one day, they shot four boys right in front of my eyes. Two of them were my friends. And I just stared into their faces as the life drained out of them, looked right into their eyes as they glazed over. Watched the blood pouring out of their still hearts. And I felt nothing,' Sebastian remembered.

There was a long silence. Kurt was shocked at his story. He tried to think of something to say to Sebastian – anything – but suddenly the room fell eerily silent, even the police officers stopped talking. A group of Nazis walked in, and Kurt froze in fear.

'We'll take it from here,' said one of them. The policemen hurriedly shuffled out of the room, having lost their bravado and authority the moment the Nazis entered. Kurt didn't know if he should be glad at seeing the back of the horrid policemen, or scared at being in a room with Nazis.

As soon as the door closed, Kurt turned to Sebastian, about to ask him what was going to happen, but Sebastian shook his head in warning. Kurt kept his mouth firmly shut, and listened to the hideous, terrifying silence, broken only by the click-click-click of expensive Nazi boots pacing the floor. Eventually, one of them stopped in front of him, and he fixed his eyes firmly on the floor, too scared to look him in the eye.

'Fresh meat,' whispered a menacing voice in his ear. Before he had time to react, the man was beating him with a club. Kurt quickly curled himself into a ball, trying to protect his head by wrapping his arms around it. It all happened so suddenly. 'I'm going to beat it out of him! He won't be a faggot much longer!' declared the Nazi joyfully, as he continued beating Kurt all over his body, and he blinked back his tears, not wanting them to know that he was hurting. He wasn't going to give them the satisfaction. He just closed his eyes and waited for it to be over.

When it had finally stopped, Kurt stayed on the floor, not sure how he ought to react. 'Get up, homo,' the man ordered. Kurt hurriedly stood up. He noticed that the other prisoners were now standing in a line, and he joined Sebastian on the end, limping, and silently wincing in pain. Standing up was hard enough; his entire body was throbbing. But, worse than that, he felt ashamed. No. No, Kurt told himself firmly. They will not make me feel ashamed of who I am, he told himself.

One of the Nazis cast his eyes up and down the line, eventually resting upon someone at the other end, who Kurt couldn't see. 'You. Come here,' he ordered. The boy stepped forwards, and Kurt saw that he had light brown hair and glasses. Suddenly, the boy ran towards the door.

'Fuck this shit,' the boy yelled, trying to escape, and Kurt braced himself for another gunshot. But it didn't come. They didn't shoot him. Instead, two of them grabbed the boy so that he couldn't escape, and then one of them retrieved a particularly nasty looking tool from their pocket. The boy obviously recognised it, and began shouting. 'No, no, God, please no,' he protested, but it was too late. The Nazi grabbed the boy's hand and clamped the tool over the fingers. The boy's cries pierced the air, as he screamed out a stream of curse words. When the Nazi removed the tool, Kurt's mouth dropped open in horror as he saw that the boy's fingernails had been ripped out, leaving behind bloody stumps.

'Does anyone else want to leave?' asked another officer. The other boys in the line shook their heads hurriedly, whilst the poor boy without his fingernails got back in line, crying quietly. The officer smiled. 'Good. Now, I'm sure you all know why you're here. For the benefit of those of you who are new,' he said, glancing at Kurt, who shuddered, 'I'll explain. You are all worthless, disgusting homosexuals. And the Fuhrer has ordered us to get rid of you. None of you are true Germans. You have dirty, filthy blood. You don't belong in this country, hell, in this world,' he told them. 'Heil Hitler!' he called out, which the rest of the Nazis repeated, doing the one-handed salute that Kurt had come to deeply detest.

He felt sick at what he was hearing. And what did they mean, 'get rid' of him? Was he going to die here? Quite possibly. However, he was shaken out of his thoughts by the Nazi officer selecting several boys from the line. They looked pale and frightened. The Nazis swiftly handcuffed the boys, and pulled down the boys' trousers, exposing their backsides, before retrieving a long stick. Kurt was fairly certain that it was once a ruler, but was now rather broken and dirty. He presumed that the boys were going to be beaten with the ruler, but what happened in actuality was much worse.

The Nazi walked behind the boys, and then inserted the ruler into a boy. The boy screamed in pain and horror as he was torn open inside. Kurt could hardly bear to watch as the boy was raped with the broken old ruler. After a few terrible minutes, the Nazi withdrew the ruler, and the boy fell forwards, gasping in pain, tears streaming down his face. Blood steadily trickled down his legs.

Kurt was forced to watch as the remaining boys were raped too, and, finally, the Nazis left. 'You're tomorrow,' one of them whispered slyly to him, and Kurt whimpered.

Lying in the small, hard bed that night, Kurt finally allowed himself to cry. He'd only been here for one day and it was already a thousand times worse than he had ever imagined. God, he wished Blaine were here. But then he quickly threw that thought away. He was glad that Blaine wasn't here, because this way, Blaine didn't have to go through this abuse and torture. Blaine was safe, and that was all that mattered. Kurt closed his eyes and began drifting off to sleep, tears falling down his face and the screams ringing in his ears.

* * *

_- I'm sitting here, weeping, while the hours pass so slow -_

* * *

**Day Two**

Blaine woke up, gasping, drenched in sweat. He'd had another nightmare. He sat up wearily, trying and failing to ignore the hideous loneliness that crept up inside him. Kurt wasn't here. Kurt was never going to be here again.

'No,' Blaine muttered to himself, quiet but firm. He couldn't think like that. If he began giving up in his thoughts, he would end up giving up in his actions too. So Blaine took several deep breaths, and then turned to look at the empty space next to him, where Kurt belonged. 'I am going to fight. I am going to rescue Kurt. I am going to hold him again, kiss him again, make love to him again,' he said, keeping his voice steady.

He got out of bed and went to use the bathroom, before walking to the kitchen. Blaine glanced at the clock. It was nearly five o'clock in the morning. He knew he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, not after the nightmare. Shuddering at the all too vivid memory, Blaine headed back to his bedroom. His eyes fell upon Brittany, sleeping peacefully in the room opposite. She was holding her small unicorn that Santana had made for her out of old dresses. He sighed. She may be eccentric and a little odd, but Brittany was an amazing friend.

She was an orphan, and had grown up in a children's home in Lichtenberg, a small town just outside of Berlin. They both attended the same school, and became fast friends. When they were around thirteen, their class took a day trip to Berlin. Whilst the rest of their classmates looked around the museums and played in a small park, Blaine and Brittany ran away. They had walked through the crowded streets, transfixed by the way that the city never seemed to stop moving. It was very different from their small town.

Blaine's parents had given him a few marks for the trip, and he bought pancakes. The two of them ate, sat on the warm, dusty pavement, watching people drinking wine and the trams rolling by. As the sun was setting, Brittany said she wanted to stay in Berlin forever, and it had been such a perfect day that Blaine agreed.

It hadn't always been easy, but somehow Brittany and Blaine survived. In the beginning, they got poorly paid jobs, slept in tiny, freezing rooms and ate rarely. It had been hell, at times. Eventually, somehow, things turned around, and they now had their own apartment and enough money to get by. Blaine didn't regret any of it. All of his regrets came later.

Blaine shook himself out of his memories and threw on some clothes before heading out into the warm night – well, morning. He wandered aimlessly for a bit. There was nobody else around, not even the Nazi patrollers yet, at this hour. However, at one point he came across two girls, both wearing yellow stars, and carrying small suitcases. They were obviously running away, and when they ran into Blaine they looked terrified at having been discovered.

'It's fine. I'm not on their side,' he said, giving the girls a smile to put them at ease. They visibly relaxed. Blaine reached into his pocket, and pulled out several marks. He handed them to the older girl, and then pulled both of them into a hug. 'Good luck,' he said. 'And hurry. The Nazis start roaming the streets at six o'clock,' he said, continuing on his way. The girls scurried off, and Blaine hoped that they'd manage to escape to safety.

He had intended to go back to his apartment after clearing his head, but it was now nearing six o'clock, and if the Nazis saw him walking around, he'd be in trouble. There wasn't enough time for him to get back home. So he turned a corner and headed towards the ice cream parlour, knowing it would be safe there.

He let himself in – Quinn had known him for a long time and trusted him with a key – and quietly opened the front of the cabinet, and then began walking down the stairs. When he was at the door, Puck threw it open, startling Blaine. Puck was holding a gun, and Blaine fell backwards in shock, desperately trying to stop him. 'It's me – it's Blaine!' he whisper-shouted, not wanting to make too much noise. Puck sighed in relief.

'Thank God. You scared me,' he said, pulling Blaine up off of the floor and into a hug. Blaine peered around Puck into the room. Quinn was stood there, also with a gun, which she lowered when she saw that it was Blaine.

'What's happened? Is something wrong? What happened?' she demanded all in a rush, concerned. Blaine shook his head.

'Nothing. Just…Kurt,' he said sadly. The other two sighed sympathetically, Puck giving him a one armed hug and Quinn kissing his cheek softly.

'How long has it been?' Puck asked. Blaine glanced at the clock that hung over the bar.

'Two days,' he said. 'And about three hours,' he told them.

'We'll get him back. We will,' Quinn assured him. Blaine nodded.

'I know. But I'm just terrified in case there's nothing left to get back,' he said, feeling his eyes fill with tears.

'You can't think like that,' Puck told him.

'But what if it's true, Puck? What if – what if they kill him? I'm trying to stay positive, but…it's just too hard. I keep having these nightmares where I walk into a room and he's just lying there on the floor, bleeding, but alive. I run over to him, happy and relieved – then I see his lifeless eyes, hear his silent heart, and I realise that he's…dead,' Blaine sobbed into Puck's shoulder.

There was a pause, as Blaine continued to cry, and Quinn and Puck exchanged a concerned look.

'I think you need to go back to bed, Blaine,' Quinn suggested gently.

'No. How can I sleep peacefully when Kurt is probably being tortured right this minute? I want to get him out of there, right now. Let's go, let's break into the police station and rescue him. Come on!' he cried, tears filling his eyes as he reached for one of the guns hanging on the wall. Puck quickly stopped him.

'Blaine, you're not thinking clearly. We can't go there. We haven't prepared, they'd kill us within five minutes. I know the waiting is awful, but I promise, it will be worth it,' Puck told him gently.

'Yes because everything worked out just fine when you waited around for Beth,' he retorted angrily. The looks of pain on Puck and Quinn's faces at his mention of Beth made Blaine feel unbelievably guilty. 'God I'm sorry…I shouldn't have said that. That was out of order. I'm sorry,' he apologised. They nodded stiffly, knowing that Blaine wouldn't have said those words if he wasn't so upset.

'It's alright. Just…go back to bed. That's the best thing for you right now,' Quinn said again.

'No…I can't, Britt will be worried…I can't impose,' Blaine mumbled his excuses.

'It's no trouble. And Quinn will go and tell Brittany where you are,' Puck told him. Quinn nodded in confirmation.

'You look like you really need it,' Quinn agreed.

Puck gently steered him into the room behind the bar, ignoring Blaine's feeble whines of protest. There were several beds – one was Puck's, and was messy and clearly slept in. Then there were several others. Puck gently lay him down on a clean one, and Blaine breathed in the cool, white sheets beneath him. Quinn pulled the blanket over him. 'Go to sleep. I promise you'll feel better in a few hours,' Quinn whispered, smiling. He gave in and closed his eyes, hearing their footsteps leave.

Blaine fell into an uneasy sleep, his dreams haunted by a white face with unblinking eyes and cold lips.

* * *

_- When your mind's made up, there's no point in trying to change it, when your love…love, love, I'll come running to fight -_

* * *

**Day Three**

Jesse hurried down the empty, dark street, running a little late for the meeting. As he hurtled round the corner, he crashed into someone. 'Gosh, sorry – wait, is that you, Santana?' he recognised the girl from the other night. She was wearing a deep purple dress that looked beautiful against her skin tone. Her hair was unbrushed, and hung messily around her shoulders. Once again, she had bare feet.

'Oh…hello, Jesse. Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going,' she said distractedly.

'I can tell. The café is this way,' Jesse said, turning her around gently. Her face looked blank. 'The meeting?' he prompted. Suddenly, understanding dawned on her face and she shushed him wildly.

'Are you out of your mind? You can't talk about that out on the street, if someone were to hear you…God, Jesse!' she whispered furiously.

'Sorry, sorry…,' he apologised quickly. There was a pause. 'Well, shall we go? I don't want to be late,' Jesse said, continuing down the street with Santana.

'I think we're already late,' she said, but quickened her pace.

They walked in companionable silence for a moment, when Jesse spoke.

'I don't want to be rude or anything, Santana, but you – you don't, um, look – look…um,' he stumbled, and she rolled her eyes and cut across him.

'I look like shit, yes I know, thank you very much,' she said bitterly. Jesse patted her shoulder a little awkwardly.

'No…well, yes,' he said. They both laughed weakly. 'So…why do you look like – um, like shit?' he asked. His parents were from the nice part of Berlin; he wasn't used to swearing.

'I don't know. I just feel…odd. I don't feel quite right. Today has been just the same as any other – aside from when I had to go and fill out some forms for those fucking Nazis,' she said, whispering the last part and glancing around furtively.

'Forms?' Jesse murmured. She nodded.

'I'm really worried in case they're onto me,' she replied in the same quiet tone. 'I mean, they know I'm a gypsy, and I'm as far from Aryan as you can get, so they have two reasons to hate me already. But they don't know that I'm a lesbian or that I'm in the Swing Youth. Well, I hope they don't. I don't know why they wanted information about me,' she mused worriedly. They walked on in silence for a moment, before Jesse spoke.

'I just want to say – I didn't get a chance the other night – that I don't mind that you're a lesbian. I'd never actually met a lesbian before I met you and Brittany, and I'm yet to meet a homosexual – male, that is – so it's not as if I have a great deal of homosexual acquaintances to compare you to, but nonetheless, you seem like a wonderful person, as does Brit, and I don't have any sort of problem with it,' he said, rushing through the words and sounding much more formal than he'd intended. Santana chuckled.

'Turn off the charm, St James, this isn't one of Mummy and Daddy's cocktail parties,' she said jokingly. They both laughed. 'Seriously, though…thank you, for saying that. There aren't many people that would,' she said sadly and Jesse hummed in agreement.

'I wonder if there ever will be, one day,' he mused.

'What do you mean?' Santana questioned.

'Well, do you ever think that maybe, in the future, it wouldn't matter if a person was heterosexual or homosexual?' Jesse asked.

'I can't see it happening. At least, not any time soon,' she said.

'I don't think it will happen for some years, at least not whilst we have Hitler in charge. But I think it could happen. I know it's hard to imagine now, when we are surrounded by so much prejudice and intolerance. But trust me, one day, things will be different. I can feel it. Whether or not the change comes within our lifetime is another question entirely,' he said.

'Maybe when my children are grown up. Maybe then,' Santana considered.

'You want to have children?' Jesse asked her. She nodded.

'Yes. I always have,' she told him.

'I hope you don't mind me asking…but…how?' he asked, confused.

'Brittany and I have a plan; I mean, we do have various options. One day, when we're older. And this goddamn war is over,' Santana said. Jesse wanted to ask further, but he thought it would be rude. So he kept his mouth shut and they kept walking.

'By the way,' Santana broke the silence, 'you were wrong, before. You said that you'd never met a homosexual male,' she said.

'I know. I haven't,' Jesse assured her.

Santana shook her head. 'Yes, you have. Blaine,' she said simply.

'Blaine? Really?' Jesse asked, surprised. 'He didn't say anything,' he said.

'Blaine and his boyfriend have had some – some difficulties and problems because of the negativity and prejudices that people hold because of who they are,' she told him. Jesse nodded, and she continued. 'And also, Brittany is not a lesbian,' she told him. This revelation left him dumbfounded.

'Wait…what? But she's your girlfriend – she was kissing you – and you're a girl – and you're a lesbian – so she must be a lesbian – but you're saying she isn't – what?' he asked. Santana burst out laughing.

'You've cheered me up, Jesse, I'll give you that,' she told him, still laughing.

'That didn't answer my question!' Jesse said, still trying to figure out this impossible information.

'Brittany is a homophile,' Santana told him. Jesse frowned.

'A what?' he asked. 'I've never heard of that,' he said.

'I'll explain. A homophile is someone who has relationships with men and women. Brittany doesn't love me because I'm a girl, she loves me because of who I am. Regardless of whether I have cock or cunt down below,' she said. Jesse looked at the ground, embarrassed by her language. 'Sorry. I didn't realise you were such a child,' Santana teased.

'I am not a child!' he retorted, but they were laughing again. Jesse had never had a friend like this before. He had friends, sure, but not like this. With Santana, it was so free and easy and he didn't have to think. 'So…a homophile. I'll have to look this up,' he said thoughtfully, his eager brain already desperate for this new chunk of knowledge.

They continued walking, then Santana stumbled, grabbing onto Jesse's arm for support.

'Are you alright?' he asked. Santana shook her head, frowning. 'What's the matter?' Jesse asked again, but before she could answer, Santana bolted down a side alley and vomited noisily. When it was over, she walked shakily back to Jesse, who looked at her with concern. 'Do you want to go home?' he asked, but Santana shook her head quickly.

'No. I have to be at the meeting,' she said, reaching down the front of her dress. Jesse looked away pointedly. 'Oh, don't be so silly, I'm not getting them out. Besides, they're only breasts, you've seen them before,' Santana said as she pulled out some mint leaves and chewed them to take away the vomit aftertaste. Jesse decided not to tell her that he hadn't actually seen anyone's breasts before.

They continued on towards the café, now extremely late, Santana still walking unsteadily, and vomiting twice more before arriving. As he stood next to her, trying to tune out her retches and groans, Jesse looked up at the stars, which always made him think of Rachel, his star. They had used up three days already. He sighed, hating how quickly time seemed to pass.

Jesse took Santana's arm to guide her down the street; she was now quite weak. As she told him that she 'needed a fucking drink', Jesse smiled at how different his life was becoming. How different his life was becoming. The smile slid off his face.

* * *

_- I'm looking for a sign, in this, a dark uneasy time -_

* * *

**Day Four**

'Where are we going, Jesse?' Rachel asked, clutching her boyfriend's hand as they walked through the busy streets. It was early evening, and people were everywhere.

'Tonight is going to be very special. It's your last night in Berlin,' Jesse told her. There was an uncomfortable pause, and he hurriedly spoke again, 'for now, I mean, it's your last night for a little while,' he amended.

'It's fine. I know what you meant,' she said quietly. 'So. What are we doing tonight that is so very special?' she asked, trying to lighten the mood. Jesse smiled, eager to let go of the negativity.

'Well we have several events happening tonight, my dear,' he said, putting on a fancy voice and bowing at Rachel. She giggled.

'Stop being so silly!' she told him, hitting him lightly on the arm. She took his hand again as they continued walking.

'Here we are!' Jesse said. Rachel gasped; it was her favourite restaurant in Berlin. She had only ever been there once, many years ago, but she often came and stood outside, reading the menu and imagining what she would order if she were one of the rich socialites of Berlin. Jesse had eaten here countless times; his family was the complete opposite of Rachel's.

'Jesse…we can't come here, an appetiser costs more than my house,' she said. Jesse raised his eyebrows. 'Alright, maybe not as much as my house…but it costs a lot, too much,' she said.

'You always were overdramatic,' he told her, smiling fondly, as they walked towards the entrance. As they drew closer, Rachel stopped and pointed to an all-too familiar sign hanging in the window.

'They won't let me in,' she said sadly. Even her favourite restaurant was off limits.

'It's not a problem,' Jesse said, seemingly unfazed as he led her around the building, to the back door. He knocked on the door, and after a moment a young man opened it, confused by the knocking. However, when he saw Jesse, his face broke into a smile.

'Mr St James!' he greeted, shaking Jesse's hand happily.

'Hello, Marcus. This is my girlfriend, Rachel,' Jesse said, gesturing to the surprised girl standing beside him.

'Good evening,' Rachel said politely, and Marcus took her hand and kissed it delicately. The whole exchange would have been almost romantic if they hadn't been standing in a dingy back alley.

'Ah, she is even more beautiful that you described!' Marcus exclaimed, and Rachel blushed.

'Well, I couldn't ever do justice to this girl with only my words,' Jesse said, making Rachel blush even more. 'Do you have what I asked you for?' he asked Marcus, who nodded and disappeared back inside.

'What's going on?' Rachel asked.

'It's a surprise,' he said mysteriously. After a moment, Marcus returned with a large, brown paper bag, and a bottle of wine.

'Enjoy, my dears,' he said, before closing the door.

Rachel turned to Jesse, beaming in delight at what he had done for her. 'You…you bought food from my favourite restaurant? For me?' she asked.

Jesse nodded. 'Anything for you,' he said, leaning forwards and capturing her lips. She kissed him back, and then they walked towards their favourite part of Berlin – the park. They walked past the throngs of people in the busiest part, then through the trees and finally arriving in a clearing, empty of people and practically silent. It was their place.

Jesse opened the wine, and reached into the bag, retrieving food. Rachel still couldn't quite believe it. 'I know these paper trays are a little informal,' Jesse began, but she stopped him.

'No, this is perfect. I can't believe that I am in our place, eating my favourite food, sitting right next to the man I love,' she said. Jesse looked at her, his mouth slowly curling into a smile.

'You – you love me?' he asked her. Rachel nodded. 'I love you too,' he whispered, before kissing her deeply. Rachel returned the kiss, curving her body into his. She needed to be close to Jesse, closer than ever before. It was their fourth day, their final day. She didn't know what was going to happen tomorrow. She could only control the here and now.

Rachel tentatively took Jesse's hand and moved it to rest upon her breast. He looked at her, confused, and she undid a few buttons on her blouse, exposing herself a little. Jesse's hand drifted across slightly, gently caressing her chest. Then, never breaking eye contact, reached forwards and undid a few buttons on Jesse's shirt. Rachel slowly lay back, Jesse helping her. Finally, she spoke.

'Jesse, I love you. I love you so much, I can't even explain,' she said, a little breathless.

'I love you too, Rachel,' he whispered.

There was a short pause, and then Rachel took a deep breath. 'Will you have sex with me?' she asked nervously.

'Are you sure?' Jesse asked her gently. She nodded.

'I'm absolutely certain. I want to make love to you, and I want you to make love to me. This is going to be the last time we can be together,' she said, trying to keep the tears at bay.

'Don't cry,' Jesse said, kissing her cheek softly. They were quiet for a moment. Then Jesse spoke. 'I want us to make love, too,' he confessed. Rachel smiled, and they kissed again.

He held her close, cracked her wide and shivered inside of her, feeling her body quiver in pleasure, both uttering little moans of delight at this beautiful sensation. They were everything. For this last night.

* * *

_- Take this sinking boat, and point it home. We've still got time -_

* * *

_**What did you think? PLEASE REVIEW!**  
_

_**a few things about the chapter:**_

_**1. in case you forget, Jesse said the whole 'four days' thing to Rachel in the previous chapter**_

_**2. the beating and the raping with broken rulers etc; all happened in Nazi Germany to gay male prisoners. sadly, it is all very true**_

_**3. 'marks' is the old German currency. so 'a few marks' is like a few euros/dollars/pounds/rupees or whatever**_

_**4. yes, in this story, Santana is a gypsy. in case you didn't know, the Nazis also persecuted gypsies and travellers as well as Jews and homosexuals**_

_**5. again, Aryan is the term for the 'master race' that Hitler promoted; people with blonde hair, blue eyes, slim and muscular. you can google it for more info.**_

_**6. 'homophile' is the old term for bisexual. they didn't have the word 'bisexual' back then, so I've described Brittany as a homophile. it means exactly the same thing as bisexual, you can google it if you want. the term 'homophile' is not used anymore.**_

_**7. the whole thing with Santana and the forms and the vomiting...it will all become clear soon**_

_**8. I know you're probably wondering why Rachel is so excited about getting takeout - just remember that there was no such thing back then. it would have been unheard of, thus, why Rachel found it deeply romantic and special and amazing. **_

_**Ok, so, REVIEW or I won't update! REVIEW!**_


	5. Already Gone

**_Whew, sorry for the delay, I had a diploma that I had to prep for. Urgh. But it's over now, and lookie, I wrote you a longgg chapter to make up for it so you'd better be reviewing or else Imma go all Lima Heights!_  
**

**_BIG KLAINE STUFF IN HERE, YOU'LL BE FREAKING!_**

**_As always, I hope you enjoy this and make sure that you REVIEW otherwise there won't be any more. Thank you to the wonderful people who reviewed/subscribed/favourited etc._**

**_Here it is, enjoy and REVIEW!_**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

The atmosphere at the meeting that night was an uneasy combination of awkwardness and depression. Blaine sat alone at a table near the back, his eyes fixed on his drink. He had never been much of a whisky drinker – it was too strong for him – but recently he had come to find the harsh burn to be a comfort. The way it made him wince in pain with every mouthful, the way it ran through him like a fiery river, the way it sat in his stomach like a hot brick; all of it had become as necessary to Blaine as breathing.

'You should be careful. Last time I drank one too many,' he heard someone say. Blaine lifted his head up, seeing Jesse stood over him. Jesse was smiling, but it looked forced, like he was just putting it on. Blaine half-heartedly waved in greeting, unable to find the energy to speak. Jesse seemed to get the hint and sat down without a word, his smile sliding right off his face. They sat in silence for several minutes, both wanting to speak but neither sure what to say.

'Hello boys!' came Brittany's chirpy voice from behind them. She had a glass of wine in one hand and Santana's clasped in the other. Santana nodded at Blaine and Jesse, her painted scarlet lips unsmiling. She was wearing a very ragged blue dress which looked far too small for her.

'What's wrong?' Jesse asked her. She considered for a moment before answering.

'I…I went home the other day, after the meeting. It was destroyed. Whilst I was here, the Nazis, they – they had just charged in there,' she said quietly.

'What happened?' Blaine asked, his silence broken by this new horror.

'Well, I found my cousin. She managed to hide, so they didn't find her. But she saw it all. They began walking down the street, this huge group of them, and just started shooting people. They had bombs with them and they blew up almost the whole street, our entire community, and killed everyone, except for a few that they took away, probably to send to the camps. So they may as well be dead,' she said, beginning to cry. 'There were bodies lying in the street, rats running around. The fires are still burning,' Santana told them. Everyone was quiet, before Jesse spoke in a choked whisper.

'What do you mean…they may as well be dead because they went to the camps?' he asked desperately. Blaine looked at Jesse. He was urgent, frightened.

'Well, you know what happens at the camps,' Blaine said with a shudder, thankful that even though he hated that Kurt had to be taken away, it was better for him to be at the local jail instead of a death camp. He told himself this each day; things could be much, much worse.

Jesse shook his head. 'No, I don't. I know things are really bad there…but Rachel's letter just said that she was going to be doing manual labour,' he told them. Everyone stared at him in horror.

'Who's Rachel?' Brittany asked.

'My girlfriend, I love her. She left yesterday – she's Jewish,' he explained.

'Oh my God,' Santana said. 'Why the hell didn't you tell us? We could have hidden her…you do realise that you're probably never going to see her again?' she told him.

'Wait – what? They didn't say when she was coming back, but she will eventually,' Jesse said, his eyes wide with worry.

'They didn't tell her when she was coming back because the answer is never, she is never coming back. Never,' Santana said angrily.

'Calm down, San,' Blaine said. Jesse's eyes were filling with tears and Blaine placed a hand on his arm. 'You can't think like that. I've lost my – someone, but it's not forever. We're going to get them back. I promise. Don't let yourself give up, for even a second,' he told Jesse firmly.

After a moment, Jesse nodded, and Blaine pulled him into a hug, not caring whether or not Jesse was comfortable with physical affection from another man. Jesse looked like he really needed someone to hold him. 'What's his name?' Jesse asked after a moment, wiping his eyes.

'Who?' Blaine asked, confused.

'That someone you've lost. It's your boyfriend, isn't it?' he asked. Blaine nodded slowly, unsure how Jesse knew that he was a homosexual, and also unsure whether he was against it, like most of society. He pulled back from the hug slightly, looking at Jesse with nervous eyes.

'His – his name is Kurt. And I love him. I love him so, so much. And he's gone,' Blaine said, now finally breaking down, letting the tears fall that he'd been holding in all day long. This time, it was Jesse who held Blaine.

'It's alright to cry,' Jesse told him. After he had been holding Blaine for a moment, Jesse spoke the words that he knew Blaine needed to hear. 'I don't mind that you're a homosexual, Blaine. I think it's perfectly natural, and I wish that the whole world thought so too,' he told him. The smaller boy in his arms was looking at him in shock and amazement.

'That's one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me,' Blaine told him.

'Well, we're friends. Aren't we?' Jesse asked. Blaine nodded.

'Yes, I'd say that we were friends,' he said.

'Friends accept each other. No matter what,' Jesse told him. Blaine gave him a truly happy smile, and Jesse returned it, forgetting for the briefest of moments that Rachel was in grave danger. Then he remembered and the smile just fell away.

'Good evening, everyone,' Puck greeted, beginning the meeting. After they had sung the song, which Jesse now knew all the words to, Quinn addressed the room.

'It seems that the Nazis have begun their attack on the traveller community,' she said.

'You can just say gypsies. The Nazis say a lot worse,' Santana said bitterly. Brittany took Santana's hand and kissed it softly. Blaine remembered the way that he and Kurt used to do the same to one another, to show affection and support. Before the memories could overwhelm him completely, Puck's next piece of news bought him crashing back to the present.

'There seem to be definitely two but potentially three ways in which they are going after them. The first way is that the Nazis will break into a traveller community at some absurd hour when everyone is sleeping, and proceed to massacre all those living there. They leave a mess of bodies and burning buildings behind them, and we have reason to believe that they are taking a certain, select few people to the camps,' he told them, trying to remain calm, but the anger in his voice was quite obvious.

'But we think there may be a specific reason why they are taking them to the camps – other than the Nazi's general racism and bigotry, of course. We just aren't entirely sure what the reason is yet. This is the potentiality that Puck was referring to; Sam is still finding out more information,' Quinn said.

'Every day I go to the office and it seems that yet another thing has been taken away from anyone who isn't a white skinned, blonde haired heterosexual man with little or no religious inclination,' Sam explained sadly.

'Well aren't you lucky,' Santana retorted. Then her expression softened slightly. 'Sorry. That was out of line. I'm just so fucking angry,' she apologised.

'It's fine,' Sam forgave her.

'And the third thing is…well it's disgusting, actually,' Puck said. 'Some travellers have been ordered to fill out forms for the Nazis. The travellers are sent to their nearest police station or government office to fill the forms out,' he said. Jesse glanced at Santana, remembering their conversation several days ago. She was waiting for Puck to continue, worried.

'Well, it…it turns out that the person is left alone in a small room to fill out the forms. And while they are in there, a large amount of radiation is released into the room. The person doesn't smell it or feel it; they have no idea. But within several minutes, the radiation has invaded the body and caused the person to become completely infertile. The person has no knowledge about any of this; they develop a headache and begin vomiting several hours after their exposure to the radiation, and often suffer burns too, but they have absolutely no clue why,' Puck finished, his expression sickened.

There was a shocked silence as everyone digested this horrific piece of information, which was broken as Santana fell off her chair and curled into a sobbing wreck on the floor.

'Oh God,' Jesse muttered to himself as he put two and two together. Brittany was sitting on the floor, holding Santana.

'What's wrong? Tell me, you're scaring me,' Brittany asked urgently.

'They – they got me,' Santana whimpered.

'What do you mean?' Brittany asked.

'I filled out the forms,' Santana explained, taking a great, shuddering breath before crying even harder. 'I wanted a baby. I wanted one baby, one small part of me and one small part of someone else, that I could just hold and love…they took that away from me. They take everything! My mother, my brothers and sisters, all my family, my home and all my possessions…and now this, too,' she screamed in despair.

Everyone knew she needed to cry, and they all let Santana have her sadness for a moment.

'Let's go,' Jesse murmured, scooping up Santana and carrying her. She clung to him, her arms wrapped fiercely around his neck like a small child, her face buried in his shoulder as she wept.

Blaine offered Brittany his arm, and she clutched it, her face wet with silent tears. Blaine looked as if he was on the verge of tears himself, and Jesse was trying desperately to stay strong for Santana. And Brittany, he realised. This affected Brittany too.

As they began climbing the stairs, Santana suddenly spoke. 'I have nowhere to go. And they're after me. I know for certain, now,' she said, tears still flowing.

'What about our apartment?' Brittany asked Blaine, who shook his head after a brief moment of consideration.

'No. We would, of course we would – but it's too dangerous. Brit and I are already unsafe because of who we are. We can't bring a lesbian gypsy into our home as well, it's just too risky, for all of us. I'm so sorry, San,' he said, his eyes sad and apologetic. She nodded.

'I understand. It's not your fault. It's theirs…I really – God, I fucking hate them,' she said.

'We're going to my apartment. My parents are in Cologne for a business trip. Or maybe it was a social gathering, I forget,' Jesse explained.

'I can't impose,' Santana began, more out of politeness than anything, but Jesse cut across her.

'You're not imposing. I'm offering. I can't lose you, Santana. And neither can the rest of the world. You're too important,' he told her. Brittany leaned over to kiss Santana's cheek.

'We'll get through this. We'll get through all of it. And something good will come,' Brittany told her girlfriend. The two girls clasped their hands firmly, and Brittany kissed Santana's cheek softly. There it was again, Blaine realised, that promise, that love, in one small touch.

They continued walking up the stairs, all four of them with an unpleasant combination of pain, love, fear and anger stirring in their hearts. But they still hoped, because there was always room for hope.

* * *

Rachel clutched her small suitcase closer to her chest, pulling her knees up to her chin. She tried to ignore the sobs and shouts that surrounded her in the tiny, cramped box. It was too dark for her to see anything, and she didn't want to talk to anyone because they all seemed too angry and too sad. She didn't want to become like them.

She had arrived at the railway station three days ago and placed aboard this…well, one could hardly call it a train. It was a metal container, used for the storage and transport of food or books or machines – not people. But, Rachel reasoned, to the Nazis, she was no more than an unimportant object. She was not human, and therefore not treated as such. There were at least twenty of these metal containers connected together, each with eighty or so people stuffed inside, and they travelled unsteadily along the railway line. She had grown used to the constant feeling of nausea as the track became rockier.

Rachel was cramped in the corner of the pitch black box, as she had been for the past three days. She knew it had been three days because she used a hairpin to scratch one notch each day into the metal beside her, to keep track. As she blindly ran her fingers across the hard surface, she came across other notches. Someone had been here before her. Rachel counted eight notches, scratched by someone else, and felt a sinking feeling of dread as she realised she would be here for another five days. If she made it, that is. There had already been twelve people died in Rachel's box, and the putrid stink of their decaying bodies filled the air. She could hardly bear to breath, and Rachel wondered if these people had felt the same way before dying.

Rachel tried to remember Jesse. She closed her eyes and remembered his eyes, his hair, his skin…the way he smelled, the way he held her, kissed her…the way it felt when he came inside her…Rachel realised that her hand seemed to have moved down and she had unconsciously begun touching herself a little, reliving the memory from that amazing night. She felt herself blush – thank goodness it was too dark for anyone to see what she had been doing – and quickly moved her hand away. She wasn't sure what had led her to do that. Rachel hurriedly shook the feeling off and tried not to think about Jesse, which was very difficult and not something she enjoyed.

As a baby began crying nearby, Rachel felt the fear of the tiny person slice right through her heart. That was the first night she didn't pray.

* * *

Kurt wearily dragged his feet down the corridor to the room – or, as he had begun to call it, the torture chamber. It was the same each day; they would all be woken up, taken to the room, and then the Nazis would arrive and proceed to torture them. Kurt was told every day that he deserved it, but he firmly told himself over and over that he didn't deserve it, not at all. He had sadly grown accustomed to being beaten, tied up and raped.

However, today, things seemed a little different. When he arrived in the room, there was only one Nazi there, a tall blonde man who was clearly hiding a very well-built body underneath his uniform. Kurt grew fearful, imagining how strong this officer was and how much harm he'd be able to inflict. However, after the police officers had left the room, the Nazi simply sat in a chair and began reading a newspaper. Kurt glanced at Sebastian, perplexed. Why weren't they being abused, like every day? Kurt could only assume that this Nazi was waiting for more officers to join him, or simply trying to make them all relax and think they were safe – before launching a surprise attack at any moment.

But, as the hours passed, and nothing happened, Kurt allowed himself to let down his guard a little. The boys began whispered conversations with one another, hesitant at first, but when the Nazi did nothing to stop them, the room filled with the general buzz of chatter.

'So this is…odd,' Sebastian said, coming over to Kurt. He nodded in agreement.

'My sentiments exactly,' he answered. 'Do you think he's just waiting until we're all suitably convinced that nothing will happen before he strikes?' Kurt asked. Sebastian considered for a moment.

'I have absolutely no idea. And I've been here a long time. Too long. Although from what I hear of the camps, we're better off here,' he told Kurt darkly.

'Do you think that we'll be sent to a camp?' he asked Sebastian, trying not to sound scared.

'Realistically, yes, I think we will end up in a camp eventually,' he answered Kurt. There was a pause, both men considering this inevitability.

'Why haven't they sent us already?' Kurt wondered.

'Not enough space, I imagine. Or perhaps they're just having too much fun torturing us to let us go,' Sebastian said sarcastically. Kurt chucked dryly. If he didn't laugh at this shit, then what else was there to do?

'So how did they discover that you're…you know. A homosexual,' Kurt asked. 'Did they walk in on you having sexual relations with your boyfriend, too?' he asked again.

Sebastian laughed. 'I don't exactly have a boyfriend,' he said.

'Ah. You're one of those,' Kurt realised. Sebastian laughed again.

'If by 'one of those' you mean hustler, then no, that is not correct. You know, nearly all the hustlers who fuck men are heterosexual. They just do it for the money. And they're frightfully talented at sodomy too, I might add,' he told Kurt, who frowned. 'What's wrong?' Sebastian asked.

'I don't like that word,' Kurt said. When Sebastian looked at him questioningly, he continued. 'Sodomy. It's defined by all the dictionaries as 'improper sexual intercourse', it's equated to having intercourse with animals, children. And I just find that insulting, that when Blaine and I make love it's somehow improper? It's no better than having relations with a horse? Because it's not, it's beautiful. It's love,' Kurt explained. Both boys were quiet for a moment, even Sebastian stunned at what his friend had just said. He'd never thought of it like that before.

'Excuse me,' said a voice several feet away from them. Kurt and Sebastian froze in fear when they saw that it was the Nazi speaking to them.

'Y-y-yes?' Kurt managed to stutter.

'What is your name?' he asked.

'Kurt. Kurt H-h-hummel,' he answered shakily. Recognition sparked in the blonde man's eyes.

'Tell me, Kurt Hummel, do you know a Blaine Anderson?' he asked. Kurt paused for a second before answering. He couldn't say that he knew Blaine, it would be too dangerous. They might go after his Blaine too.

'Erm, n-n-no,' Kurt said unconvincingly. The Nazi clearly saw right through his lie. He leaned back in his chair, and smiled, but it wasn't the smug, superior, chilling smile that all the Nazis wore. It seemed like the man was amused, happy. Kurt shook this idea off, certain that he had just put Blaine in danger. Dammit, why had he mentioned Blaine's name?

* * *

Santana and Jesse sat on his roof, their feet dangling off the side, silently staring out at the city.

'I was going to choose you, you know,' Santana told him suddenly.

'What do you mean? Choose me for what?' Jesse asked.

'I was going to ask if you'd be the father of my child,' she said quietly, her hand subconsciously slipping down to rest upon her stomach, cradling the child that would never exist.

Jesse didn't know how to respond, so Santana continued. 'Brittany was going to ask Blaine. She decided years ago that he was the right choice. He'd already agreed to it,' she told him.

'And…why me?' Jesse asked quietly. Santana paused, before turning to look at him when she answered.

'I've met a few other men, in the past, who don't mind that I'm a lesbian. But with you it's different – you sort of go one step further. It's like you embrace my homosexuality and you understand it, almost. I've never really had that with anyone before. And then there are all of your wonderful traits; you're honest, kind, accepting, intelligent, loving and caring. Everything I'd want my child to be, they'd learn from you,' she told him. Then, after a pause, 'And they'd be ridiculously good looking, like us,' she said, managing to smile.

Jesse laughed softly. 'Well. I don't really know what to say. I'm – I'm honoured, I guess?' he said.

'Don't lie, you're completely shocked,' Santana said, still smiling.

'I just…how would it work?' Jesse asked. She rolled her eyes.

'Well Jesse, I would lie down and open my legs, and you would take off your trousers and put your – ' she began sarcastically, but he cut her off.

'No, I know how it works. I meant, how would it work once the baby was born?' he clarified, averting his gaze from Santana, who had opened her legs wide as part of the demonstration. Once she understood that this was not a sex education lesson, she hurriedly closed them.

'Oh. Well, obviously it wouldn't happen for several years, but basically, Brittany, Rachel and myself would have been the child's mother, if it was alright with Rachel. And you would have been the child's father. With Brittany and Blaine, her and myself would be the mothers, and Kurt and Blaine would be the fathers. But I always imagined that all of us would end up being parents to all the children. That's how I always pictured it – an enormous, happy family. My family,' she said, blinking away tears. 'But I've let go of that dream. It's never going to happen,' she said.

She looked away from Jesse, turning her attention back to the magnificent view of Berlin below.

'I used to love this city. I've lived in a lot of places during my sixteen years on this earth, but none of them felt like home until I came to Berlin,' she said. Jesse moved closer to Santana and held her hand in a gesture of comfort. She sighed sadly. 'It's two o'clock in the morning. The only sounds should be a few drunks staggering home, a night train in the distance and the occasional car. And what do we have instead? The screams of children being dragged away from their parents, the chunder of a hundred police vans through the streets and the chilling boom as yet another building is blown apart. I look around what ought to be a beautiful city lit by golden streetlights, and I see flames flying fifty feet into the sky as the love and the dreams burn. I see masses of people running to save themselves, and I see my city, my home, crumble around me. And this is supposed to be the nice part of town. I hate Berlin, now. The Nazis killed my love. They got me,' she told Jesse.

The two were silent for a long time. Eventually, the sky began to brighten and they decided that they ought to go inside before Santana was seen by anyone. She got up first and began walking across the roof, back to the door into Jesse's apartment.

'Santana?' Jesse said softly. She turned around upon hearing her name. 'I would have said yes,' he told her. Santana nodded slightly, giving him the tiniest of smiles, before turning away and heading into the house. As she left, the same thought crossed both of their young minds. It was too late.

* * *

'Kurt. Kurt, wake up!' Kurt opened his eyes upon hearing the urgent whisper. He saw the blonde Nazi from several days ago, stood next to him, and sat up immediately, frightened beyond belief. Seeing his reaction, the officer hurriedly spoke, 'it's alright, it's alright. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm – I'm not on their side,' he reassured Kurt, who looked at him disbelievingly.

'You're wearing their uniform,' he said to the Nazi, eyeing the swastika on his chest with distaste.

'I hate this uniform. I hate everything that it stands for. Everything,' he told Kurt. There was a short pause.

'Why are you waking me up?' Kurt asked, glancing at the silver watch the Nazi wore, 'at one o'clock in the morning?' he said, groaning inwardly at how tired he'd be tomorrow. 'Did you want to do something particularly mean and twisted to me?' he asked sarcastically. The blonde man shook his head quickly, and upon closer inspection, Kurt saw that he didn't look much older than himself. 'How old are you?' he said. The man hesitated before answering.

'Seventeen. They think I'm twenty two,' he said. Kurt frowned.

'Why are you lying to them about your age?' he asked. The Nazi gently pulled Kurt to his feet.

'I'm lying to them about a lot of things,' he told Kurt. 'When was the last time you showered?' he asked.

'I've been able to wash using water from the sink…but I've not felt clean for almost a week,' Kurt answered. The Nazi nodded, and reached into a large bag on the floor, retrieving a towel and several small bottles.

'I'm going to let you use the shower upstairs. And I have some clean clothes for you,' he told him. Kurt was now utterly confused.

'What on earth is going on?' he asked.

'You'll see. It's nothing bad, I promise you. Quite the opposite, actually. And my name's Sam, by the way. Sam Evans,' he said, holding out his hand to Kurt.

He stared at Sam's hand for a moment, before hesitantly shaking it. He gave Sam a small smile, which Sam returned with a huge grin.

* * *

Blaine paced the room anxiously, running his hands through his hair. He hadn't been bothering to smooth it down since Kurt had gone. Kurt always liked it best in its natural state.

He was in the basement of a disused house. He and Jesse had come here earlier and cleaned it up. Candles were placed all over the room, providing low, romantic light as well as masking the musty smell of the old room. There was a bed in the centre. Blaine hummed nervously as he waited.

* * *

'Here we are,' Sam said. Kurt glanced at the old house before him. He'd seen it before; it was the home of an old mayor, many years ago. It had been sitting unused for several decades.

'I'd ask 'what the fuck?' but you never seem to answer my questions,' Kurt told Sam, who laughed.

'Just go in there. It will all become very clear, I promise. I swear, I'm not here to hurt you. Just remember that this is for one night only,' he warned Kurt.

'What is?' he asked, but Sam was already walking away.

'Just go in there before someone sees you,' he called back.

Kurt opened the door and stepped inside, gasping at what he saw.

Candles. So many candles he couldn't count them, lighting the hallway. He followed them slowly, hardly daring to breath, until he arrived at another door. He opened it, and saw steps leading down, lit with more candles. He was now slightly worried. Was this a trap of some sort? But then he reached the bottom of the steps and turned the corner, stepping into the large basement room. And he cried out in delighted shock.

'Blaine,' was all Kurt could manage to say.

'Kurt,' Blaine said in return. They looked at each other for a moment, and then Blaine was tearing towards Kurt, and Kurt was reaching for Blaine, and they were in each other's arms once again, where they belonged. 'Oh Kurt, Kurt, Kurt,' Blaine was whispering into Kurt's neck, kissing it softly, and then Kurt's lips found Blaine's and they kissed deeper than ever before, tongue and tears mingling as lips crushed desperately, urgent breaths scattered through the air.

'God Blaine, I missed you,' Kurt said, breaking the kiss to allow himself one wonderful moment of staring into those eyes.

'I missed you too,' Blaine said, gently wiping a tear off Kurt's cheek. They didn't say anything else, somehow deciding with their eyes that sex was going to happen. He began unbuttoning Kurt's shirt, going so, so slowly. Blaine gently kissed Kurt's chest as more and more was exposed, finally removing it altogether. His eyes widened in horror at the marks all over Kurt's beautiful body. He realised what must have happened to his love.

Kurt shook his head, not wanting to ruin the moment, and began taking off Blaine's shirt, too. He tossed the material to the floor and then closed his eyes, breathing Blaine in and sighing. He hadn't smelled his boyfriend in so long.

Then, Kurt moved back and very slowly and very deliberately removed his trousers, then his underwear. He stood before Blaine, feeling more exposed in that moment than he ever had in a room full of Nazis. He would always be more naked in front of Blaine because Blaine saw parts of him that no-one else could. Not the physical parts. Blaine could see right into Kurt's heart and soul. And Kurt could see Blaine's.

As Blaine proceeded to remove the rest of his clothing, too, they looked at each other, these boys who had somehow become men. 'You are so beautiful,' Kurt whispered to Blaine.

'You too,' Blaine returned. 'It's been almost two years and you still take my breath away, every time,' he told Kurt. He gently placed his hand on Kurt's waist, and pulled him closer, returning Kurt to his side, where he belonged.

'I love you, Kurt,' he told him fervently.

'I love you too. So much, Blaine,' Kurt said, kissing him again. They moved to the bed, taking things much slower than usual. Both of them were taking the time to remember everything, to save each moment in their minds. They took the time to feel everything, to see everything, to hear the small sounds, to touch the dark in every part of each other. They knew that they had to remember this night. They had to. Both knew it was their last.

* * *

Afterwards, they lay on the bed, both facing one another, like the first time. Blaine softly rubbed his nose over Kurt's, and the memory flared up in both of them, so strong. It had all been so simple, then. What happened, Kurt wondered, as he shed a silent tear. Time. Time happened, forcing them to grow up. He knew it was useless to wish that it could be like it all was two years ago. It wouldn't be the same ever again. And that was the funny thing about growing up. You didn't realise it was happening, but once it was done, you could never go back. Never. You knew too much, your mind was too full of poisonous knowledge you didn't have before. Ignorance was truly bliss.

* * *

'I have this for you,' Blaine said, reaching under the mattress to retrieve two silver rings. He slid one onto his own finger and the other on Kurt's. 'I know we can't get married or anything. But these rings mean that we love each other, forever. That nothing can stop our love. As long as we each wear our ring…we'll be alright. We'll get through. Love never ends, like the ring,' Blaine said, running his finger around the edge of the ring. It kept going, circle after circle, round and round, again and again, never stopping.

Kurt took Blaine's hand and kissed the ring. 'Even when we're far apart,' he said, fighting back tears, 'I'll look down at my ring and think of you. And the pain will be worth it,' he told Blaine. 'I know that hell is coming. I'm scared. But I'll think of you every single day. I love you, Blaine. I love you, I love you, I love you, you, you, you,' he whispered, crying, and kissing Blaine again and again, never stopping.

* * *

They were still in the bed, bodies tangled together, when Sam came back. Blaine was awake, watching Kurt sleep. He saw Sam, and put a finger to his lips, his eyes pleading with Sam not to wake him.

'He needs to come with me before they notice he's gone,' Sam whispered to Blaine apologetically.

'I know. I know,' Blaine replied, looking at Kurt. 'I want to know nothing but his arms, just for another tiny moment'

* * *

_Leave, leave, and free yourself at the same time – leave, leave, I don't understand, you've already gone_

* * *

_**A few things about this chapter:**  
_

_**1. the sterilising - that happened. they did it to Jews, travellers and homosexuals. the way I described it, going into a room under the pretence of filling out forms and not knowing that they had become infertile, that is all true.**_

_**2. sorry for the lack of Rachel in this chapter, she's in the next one quite a bit. the part where she was on the train - that's true. many people died on the way, there was no light or heat or anything, and no stopping.**_

_**3. I didn't want to do outright smut in this story. I don't have a problem with it or anything - I read it all the time and I've written it in most of my other stories. I just felt, when writing this story, that smut wouldn't be right for it; it would kind of take away from the story, perhaps. tell me if you agree/disagree**_

_**Ok, hope you liked it, REVIEW!**_


	6. Mystery Only Leads To Doubt

**_Here is the next chapter! it's the longest chapter yet so please reward me with some REVIEWS!_  
**

**_WARNING: contains brief section featuring self-harm_**

**_once again, this chapter is historically accurate. events and other things I refer to, those things happened to people._**

**_so anyway, read, enjoy and REVIEW!_**

**Chapter Five**

At long last, the train seemed to be slowing down. Murmurs of curiosity filled Rachel's ears and she wondered where they were. She slowly ran her fingers over the notches – eleven. She'd been here eleven days, in pitch darkness. Thank goodness it wasn't winter or she would have frozen to death.

They grinded to a sudden halt, the pressure jerking her backwards slightly. After a moment, she heard the crates next to her being opened, and the sounds of tired footsteps stumbling out. Rachel felt a thrill of anticipation rush through her; she was getting out of here, finally. Her legs had gone numb several days ago, and her neck was painfully stiff, conditions that came as a result of being stuck in the same position for eleven days and nights. Rachel knew that she smelled terrible, as did everyone else around her, and she didn't even want to think about what state her hair was in. She gingerly ran a hand through it, feeling the grease and tangles. Then she heard keys just outside, and everyone held their breath as the lock clicked and the door opened.

The first thing that hit her was the light. Rachel squinted, the light actually hurting her eyes. She wondered where they could possibly be – where had light that was so bright that it hurt? But then she realised that it was just normal summer sun, and it hurt because her eyes had become so accustomed to darkness.

People seemed to be getting up, so Rachel tried to move her dead legs and finally managed to stand. She blindly stumbled across the crate and out of it, a Nazi shoving her roughly down the steps. Rachel saw literally hundreds of people, all of them women and children, filing out of the train. She noted that this didn't seem to be a train station; they had stopped in the middle of the line and were standing in a field. It seemed to be the middle of nowhere, but when she turned to her left, she could see a small town, very far away in the distance, and when she turned to her right, she saw it. The camp.

It was relatively close, but still looked like a long walk. It had fences, higher than any that Rachel had ever seen before, made of barbed wire. Behind the fence, there were rows and rows of metal sheds with slits for windows. Behind those, she saw an enormous building, made of dark bricks with corrugated iron on the roof. Small chimneys and large windows. It looked like some sort of factory.

'Move!' yelled a Nazi, and all the women hurriedly began walking towards the camp. Rachel held onto her case tightly as she walked, and yawned, trying to stay awake. She grimaced as she stepped in a patch of mud. Her shoes were made for walking the city streets of Berlin, not these dirty countryside fields.

Suddenly a deafening bang cracked across the sky, and then another, and another. Rachel gasped, looking back to see what had happened. She saw, to her horror, that the Nazis at the back of the group were shooting those who weren't moving fast enough. Not wanting to look at the lifeless bodies, Rachel turned away and walked all the more quickly, blinking back the tears. It had been alright on the train – well, not alright. Death was never alright, but she had been able to cope with the death around her on the train, because she couldn't see it. But here, in broad daylight, she could quite clearly see the limp bodies fall to the ground, and watch as the Nazis stepped over them, laughing about their victory. It made her feel sick.

After about thirty minutes, the group arrived at the gates of the camp. Rachel was somewhere around the middle of the group, so she saw those in front of her enter one by one through a metal gate in the fence. Nazi officers stood guard. There were a few who tried to run away, but they were shot dead within seconds. Rachel had already decided against escaping long ago.

She saw the women before her hand over their cases, and Rachel sadly realised she would have to do the same. She remembered the requirement on the letter: 'make sure you bring your most treasured, valuable possessions with you for safekeeping.' Rachel had packed her small case with several photographs, her favourite dress, a few sets of underwear and her favourite book. She knew that most people would find these worthless, but it was the jewellery and money she had packed which Rachel was now worried about. There was a bracelet from her parents, a ring left to her by her great aunt, and a necklace that Jesse had bought for her, as well as fifty marks – all the money she had. Now, the requirement to bring all valuables suddenly made sense, she realised, as she watched the Nazis throw all the cases into a large pile. They wanted to steal the valuables and keep them for themselves.

Rachel quickly opened her case, and tried to see what she could save. She grabbed the fistful of marks, stuffing them into her bra, and then debated over the jewellery. The ring would be too obvious. Maybe she could wear the bracelet, if she made sure her sleeve always covered her wrist…but this was too risky. She decided on the necklace. It was probably worth more than the other things, but that wasn't why she kept it. She kept it because Jesse had bought it for her. Rachel swiftly fastened the clasp behind her neck and briefly fingered the musical note that hung on the thin gold chain, before hiding it under her shirt. She then took a moment to feel the soft pink silk of her dress beneath her fingers for the last time, and then quickly ripped off a corner of it before she could change her mind. It didn't matter if she ruined the dress now. She was never going to wear it again, so she may as well keep a small reminder.

Rachel tucked the scrap of material into her bra along with the money. Then she looked at the photos she had bought. There were a few of her family, and she smiled fondly at their faces, remembering the happy times she'd spent with them. Those days seemed so very long ago, now. Then there was one of her and Jesse, taken on the street in Berlin. She remembered that day – Jesse had asked a lady on the street to take a picture of 'me and my beautiful girlfriend,' Rachel remembered him saying proudly, and how she had blushed. They were grinning at the camera, both so happy in that moment. She remembered how Jesse had been given the camera as a gift that morning – Jesse's parents spoiled him terribly – and he had excitedly shown Rachel. After taking pictures in his home, they had grown bored of the indoors and taken to the streets. The two had captured anything and everything of interest to them. After using up countless rolls of film, they had hopped on a tram – oh, the days when she could ride trams! – and arrived back at Jesse's, shutting themselves in a dark room, developing all the pictures. Rachel had watched in amazement as the blank papers transformed into photographs before her eyes, as if by magic. That had been one of her favourite days of all time.

Now, in the present, she folded the photograph in half, and in half again, before placing it beside the scrap of dress in her bra. Whenever things got truly terrible, she would look at the photo, hold the golden musical note, and feel the pink silk. And that will get me through this, Rachel decided firmly.

All too soon, she arrived at the gate, and, as she expected, they snatched her case and threw it aside. She then told them her name and they found it on the list they were holding, marking that she had arrived. They then told her to go into the hut, pointing to the left. She did as they said, entering and arriving in a small room, where she was greeted by another Nazi. Well, greeted was the wrong word. She told him her name again, which he crossed off another list, and he told her what to do. 'Go through there, take off your clothes. Then you will be washed and dried,' he said monotonously, pointing at a door.

Rachel walked through the doorway her had directed her to. It was a changing room of sorts; women were taking their clothes off, embarrassed, and covering themselves with cold hands before making their way into the next room to be washed. Rachel was at first embarrassed at the prospect of stripping naked, something she had only ever done once, with Jesse. But then, as she slowly took her shirt off she worried about what she was going to do with her memories. Rachel glanced around, seeing if any of these other women had kept their possessions too. Nobody, it seemed, until her eyes fell upon an older woman several feet away from her. She was holding a ring, clearly a wedding ring, which had been stashed in a pocket. The woman also held a piece of paper, which Rachel couldn't see but was clearly very important to the woman. Rachel watched to see what she would do with the objects. After a moment of deliberation, the woman folded the ring inside the paper, folded it up and held it in her hand. She then slipped her hand between her legs and put the possessions inside herself. Rachel blushed, looking at the floor. She couldn't do that…could she?

Before she could decide against it, Rachel put the necklace, silk and money in a bundle, and wrapped the photograph around them. Then she took a deep breath and slid it inside her, doing it quickly, before anyone would notice. It was uncomfortable at first, but Rachel soon became used to the sensation, telling herself that she needed these things to survive. Leaving her clothes behind, she began walking towards the washroom, trying to cover herself as best as she could with her hands.

The 'shower' consisted of a deeply embarrassed naked Rachel standing before a man – a man! – hosing her down with cold water. He then threw talcum powder over her shivering, soaking body to dry her off. Rachel stumbled back towards the changing room, but she was stopped. 'You go in there,' ordered the Nazi, pointing at a door on the other side of the room.

'But my clothes…,' Rachel protested feebly.

'There are clothes in there for you to wear,' he told her, still pointing at the other door. Defeated, Rachel walked into the other room. There, her name was taken yet again, and a Nazi threw some clothes to Rachel. She examined them – a shirt and some trousers, blue and white pinstripes, and some underwear. As she slid her body into the cheap, rough material, Rachel noticed a number on the shirt, stamped across the chest. 71428. She realised, horrified, what it meant. That there were over seven thousand people here already. If they were still here, she wondered, but stopped herself thinking like that. She couldn't afford to let more death into her life; the Nazis had done that enough. She wasn't going to do it herself too.

* * *

Jesse was lying in his bed, unable to sleep, which had begun happening more and more often over the past few weeks. It had been sixteen days since Rachel had been taken away from him. Thirteen days since Santana's parents had been taken away from her. Nineteen days since Kurt had been taken away from Blaine. He missed Rachel unbearably, but told himself that it could be much worse. And besides, he'd see her again. He would.

Jesse had never really believed in God, and he didn't much care for Christianity, the faith which his parents had bought him up to believe in. But he had always, for as long as he could remember, felt as if there was some sort of higher power above him, watching him. Recently, however, he had begun to doubt the existence of such a deity.

Jesse sighed, getting out of bed and entering the kitchen. He saw Santana sitting on the window-sill, surprising him. He was momentarily embarrassed – he was only wearing his underpants – but she rolled her eyes. 'Don't worry. It's fine. Hell, be naked for all I care,' she said dully, gesturing at her own body, which, he noticed, was scantily clad in just a bra and knickers. She nursed a bottle of wine, which was more than half empty, Jesse noticed. He was worried about Santana. She had begun drinking more and more. But, he reasoned, she had good reason to.

'Can't sleep either?' she asked him. Jesse shook his head.

'Not even a little bit,' he answered, reaching into the fridge for some juice. 'Do you want some?' he asked Santana.

'Does it have alcohol in it?' she asked vaguely.

'No. It's apple juice,' he said, waving the bottle at her. She shook her head.

'I'll pass,' she said, taking a long gulp of wine. Jesse sighed as he swigged some juice straight from the bottle, not wanting to say anything about Santana's drinking. He was beginning to worry that she had a problem, like his uncle, not to mention that his parent's liquor cabinet was practically empty, and the stocks in the wine cellar thoroughly diminished. They were due home next week, and he was wondering how to explain the absence of drink, as well as the addition of a fugitive to the household.

'You should be careful over there, by the window. Someone might see you,' Jesse warned. Santana shrugged.

'I don't care anymore,' she said sadly. 'Let them,' she said, standing on the ledge and dancing around freely. The window was a large one, six feet high, and anyone on the street would be able to see her quite clearly. Panicked, Jesse ran over there, wrapping his hands around her waist, not caring about boundaries for a moment, and pulling her away. He fell backwards, and they ended up on the floor, Jesse's arms wrapped around her. Santana struggled for a moment, then relaxed onto his chest, crying. 'Sorry,' she sobbed into him. Jesse held her for a few minutes, stroking her gently and kissing her hair, trying to calm her.

Then he realised that they were both relatively naked, and this was not an appropriate position for two friends to be in. He adjusted slightly so that she was no longer lying on top of him. He let her cry for a moment before talking to her, but his thoughts were stopped by the sound of footsteps downstairs. They both froze. 'Somebody saw me,' she whispered.

'Hide?' Jesse suggested.

'No. That will just make it worse,' she said. Santana was looking more scared than Jesse had ever seen her. She thought for a moment, and then ran out of the kitchen into the spare room where she had been sleeping. Jesse followed her. She pulled on her dress, the blue one that she had worn on the night she came here. Then she threw Jesse the pile of new clothes that he had bought for her. 'Hide these,' Santana said. Jesse stuffed them into his wardrobe obediently. 'Right, now let's go to your room,' she said.

As they dashed down the hall, hearing footsteps getting gradually louder, Jesse spoke. 'How can you think so fast?' he asked her.

'I've been prepared for several possible situations,' she said quickly, throwing Jesse some pyjamas. 'I know it's too hot, but you need to put these on,' she told him. He did so. 'Thank god you live on the thirty fifth floor. It should buy us some time,' she said, steering him into his bed.

'What's the plan?' he asked her.

'When they come in, you pretend to have been asleep. Then they search, they find me, and…and take me,' she explained, her voice shaky.

'I can't let them do that!' Jesse said, pulling her onto the bed and refusing to let go.

'You have to, Jesse. You have to pretend that you've never seen me before, otherwise they'll take you, too. And you need to stay here, you need to fight with the others,' she told him. 'I wish I could stay too, but I can't. It's too late for me,' she said, tears beginning to fall. 'So you have to act shocked. You've never seen me, you didn't know I was hiding here. Don't look upset when they take me away. Don't try to save me. Don't try to stop them. Just let them take me,' Santana told him.

Jesse nodded, realising that she was right. This was the only thing to do. He took her into his arms for a moment, holding her. They listened to the footsteps for a moment. 'I think we have about four minutes,' he whispered.

'Tell Puck and Quinn and Blaine and Sam and all the others that I'm sorry I couldn't say goodbye,' she said. Jesse nodded through his own tears. 'And tell Brittany that I love her. Tell her that we'll see each other again one day. Tell her to never stop being exactly who she is, because she's amazing. Tell her that I'll never stop loving her, ever,' Santana told Jesse fervently, and he nodded.

'I'll tell her, of course I will,' he promised.

'And you, Jesse. I'll miss you too. So much,' she said, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his forehead. 'You've been wonderful to me, ever since we met. You're – you're my best friend,' she told him.

'Mine too,' he replied. 'I'll miss you so much, Santana,' he told her. They held each other for a moment longer, and then Jesse heard the footsteps come dangerously close. 'They're right beneath us,' he said. 'But I don't want to let go,' he said.

'You have to,' Santana said. She stood up and went to the door, hovering for a second. 'Be brave, Jesse,' she told him.

'I should be the one saying that to you,' he said quietly. They looked at each other.

'Lay down and pretend you're sleeping. Good-goodbye, Jesse,' she said, stifling a sob and turning to run out of the room. Jesse swiftly got under the covers.

'We'll see each other again,' he called after her.

'We will,' she agreed from the other room. Jesse sighed, and closed his eyes, waiting.

* * *

Blaine walked into the bathroom and almost fell over in shock. 'Brittany what the fuck are you doing?' he said, taking in the blood all over the sink and the gashes on her wrist.

'It's alright,' she murmured absently, watching the blood drip out of her.

'It is sure as hell not alright,' Blaine said, taking the knife out of her hand. He paused for a moment. 'This is because of Santana,' he stated. It wasn't a question, it was a fact. Brittany gave a tiny gasp on hearing Santana's name. 'Brit, she wouldn't want you to do this. Remember what Jesse said? She doesn't want you to stop being anything other than who you are,' he reminded her.

'I'm doing it for her. Look,' she said, turning her arm to show Blaine. He tried not to look – it made him feel sick. 'Four cuts. One for each day that we've been apart,' she explained, fingering the bloody lines.

'You have to stop,' Blaine told her, finding a bandage in the cupboard and beginning to gently wrap her wrist, but Brittany pushed the bandage aside.

'I don't want to hide them. It's her. I'm carving her into me, so I don't lose her,' she told him. Blaine sighed. He'd always been a little wary of Brittany's naivety and simple mind, but he never thought it would lead to this.

'But you're not going to lose her. She'll be back. And you'll have her again. You don't need to do this, Brit. Please. If not for her sake then at least for mine,' he begged her, but she didn't seem to hear him. They were quiet for a moment, Brittany murmuring things he couldn't hear to the ugly marks on her wrist. 'I think I preferred it when you cried all day,' Blaine said.

'I don't think I have any tears left,' Brittany told him sadly.

'Look. I know how you feel. I've lost Kurt, remember? I'm hurting too, but I'm not going to make myself hurt even more by taking a knife to my skin,' he said softly.

'Well that's the thing. It doesn't hurt. Well it does…but it's good. It's a good pain. Not like the pain I feel when I think about…about her, and how she's gone. This hurt, it gets rid of all the other hurt. Don't you want to forget your hurt, too, just for a moment?' she asked him.

Blaine looked at the knife in his hand. It certainly sounded tempting. He'd give anything to not feel this way, the way he'd been feeling ever since he watched love being dragged away before his eyes. He bought it up to his wrist and slowly pressed the blade into the skin. It hurt, a lot. It was good. But then he stopped, throwing the knife onto the floor. He wasn't going to do this. He hadn't cut very deep; there was just a small gash, a few drops of blood emerging. He washed his hand and made Brittany do the same. 'We're not going to do this. The Nazis have hurt us enough. We are not going to hurt ourselves too,' he told her very firmly. Brittany nodded reluctantly. He helped her stand up, and they left the bathroom.

'Come on. Jesse's coming over for dinner and I haven't even started cooking yet,' he told her.

'If Jesse's coming here then I'm not staying,' she said, grabbing her coat and purse before heading for the door.

'Brit, you can't treat him like this. It isn't his fault,' Blaine called after her, but she was already gone.

* * *

Jesse knocked seven times at the door, and Quinn let him in. 'Hello Jesse,' she said. He remembered how happily she had greeted him just a few weeks earlier, the first time he had come here, but now her smile looked forced, her voice dull, her eyes tired. He returned her greeting and opened the cabinet, going downstairs.

He said a short hello to Puck at the bar as he ordered a drink before joining Blaine at their usual table.

'Evening,' he said.

'Hello,' Blaine returned, standing up to hug Jesse. He returned Blaine's embrace. They had begun doing this each time they saw each other, out of solidarity and comfort. Both needed the contact. Jesse would close his eyes and imagine the smaller figure as Rachel, and Blaine would pretend the arms around him were Kurt's. Neither told the other that they did this.

'I should warn you,' Blaine said as they sat down, 'Brittany is angry with you,' he told Jesse.

'I'm angry with myself,' Jesse said.

'It's not your fault,' Blaine began, but Jesse continued.

'I should have done something. I should have hidden her…I should have stopped them…I should have done something. Anything!' Jesse said, still distraught at the memory of what had happened six nights ago.

'None of those things would have worked, and you know it,' Blaine told him. 'Santana was right. The best thing for you to do was to stay here. We need you here. You can help get her back,' Blaine reassured him. Jesse didn't say anything.

'I just feel hopeless. It's the same with Rachel. I should never have let her go to that place,' Jesse said, putting his head in his hands and beginning to cry. 'The people I love are gone, Blaine. The only thing I have now is you,' he told him.

'You'll always have me, Jesse,' Blaine promised him, but Jesse shook his head.

'What if I don't? What if they come for you next? Or me? Then I have nothing,' he sobbed.

Blaine held Jesse's head against his chest, letting him cry. Jesse could feel Blaine's heart beating.

'I can't promise that you'll always have me. I can't promise that one of us won't be taken away. But we have to stay strong and fight. The minute we start giving up, that's when we've let the Nazis win. And we can't let them win, Jesse. We just can't,' Blaine told him.

Jesse collected himself after a moment and sat up. 'Sorry,' he murmured, embarrassed at his display.

'Don't apologise for being human,' Blaine said, leaning on Jesse's shoulder. His head fit nicely in the crook of Jesse's neck. They sat like that for a moment, before Blaine realised what this must look like. 'Sorry. I didn't mean – I don't want – ,' he began, but Jesse stopped him.

'Don't apologise for being human,' he said, putting his arm around Blaine and pulling him closer. 'It's alright. It's alright,' Jesse told him softly. Blaine smiled up at him, and he managed to smile back.

After a minute, Jesse was resting his head on top of Blaine's.

Another minute, and Blaine took Jesse's hand. He laced his fingers through Jesse's.

Jesse had never sat with a man like this. He had never held hands with a man. It was nice.

* * *

The meeting was over fairly quickly. There was not much to report. Then came the part of the meeting where anyone could speak. Sam stood up.

'I was recently promoted, and I think they're going to send me to work at one of the camps,' he told them. He didn't look happy at the prospect.

'When do you leave?' Quinn asked.

'They haven't said anything to me yet. But everyone else who gets promoted generally ends up working at the camps,' Sam said glumly. 'I don't know how often I'll be able to come back, and I don't even want to think about what I'll have to do to people – innocent people, when I get there. At least in Berlin I can pretend, I can get by without hurting anyone. It won't be so easy out there,' he told them. There was a silence as everyone took this in. 'I do have some good news – well, as good as it can be in this situation,' he said. Sam turned to look at Jesse. 'I know where Rachel is,' he told him.

'What? How? Where?' he asked, all in a rush. His heart was beating fast.

'The paperwork came into the central office this morning. She's at Ravensbrück,' Sam told him.

'Where is that?' Jesse asked.

'It's in Germany. Probably about ten days or so by train. It's a women's labour camp,' he explained.

'What does that mean?' Jesse asked.

'There are no men – except the Nazis, obviously. And they won't try to kill her. It's not an extermination camp. It's probably because she's young and strong; that's why they want her to work. Generally, people are kept at a labour camp until they are too ill or too tired to work – if they survive – before being transported to an extermination camp. Hitler calls it the 'final solution', but I don't know how it works. I'm not high up enough,' Sam explained.

'Do many people die in the labour camps?' Jesse asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

'Quite a lot,' Sam said, not sugar-coating the facts. 'But from what I've seen, the younger someone is, the better chance they have at surviving. And Rachel is very young. So we'll hope,' Sam told him.

Jesse nodded. 'Can I visit her? Can you sneak me in? Or sneak her out?' he asked hopefully, but Sam shook his head hurriedly.

'Not a chance in hell. It's impossible. I could get Kurt out for one night, but he's not in a camp, he's in a jail cell, and even then it was difficult. The camps are entirely different. I can't get anyone in or out. Well. I might be able to, but I won't know for certain until I get there. And I might not even be at Ravensbrück,' he told him.

Jesse nodded. When people continued talking, about other things, Jesse couldn't really hear them. All he could think about was Rachel. She seemed closer than ever and yet even further away. He just knew that he was grateful for Blaine being here, right next to him. Blaine squeezed Jesse's hand comfortingly, and without thinking, Jesse planted a soft kiss in Blaine's hair.

Then he realised what he'd just done and froze. He didn't know what to do, or say. He didn't want to apologise because he wasn't sorry. He used to kiss Santana in the same way, to show friendship and comfort. Was it really any different to kiss Blaine? Something inside him told him that maybe it was different, but he ignored it.

Blaine didn't say anything. He just moved closer to Jesse, showing him that it was alright. They were friends, and they were being close. That was all.

* * *

Santana coughed as they threw the talcum powder at her. She'd only just arrived at the camp and she already hated it. As she walked into the next room, feeling no shame at her forced nudity, Santana took a moment to be grateful that she wasn't at a death camp. She knew where she was – Ravensbrück – because there had been a tiny hole in her crate, and during the train journey she had relied on her geography and sense of direction to keep track of where they were. She was a traveller, after all.

After she pulled on the ugly uniform, she walked into yet another room. How many more stages of degradation do I have to go through, she wondered. It was only when she was pinned down, and they quickly and roughly shaved off all her hair that Santana decided that things couldn't possibly get any worse. She was wrong, but would not discover this until later.

They shoved a cap onto her head and she left, somewhat relieved that there was not another room to go through. A Nazi shouted at her. 'You, gyppo,' he sneered. Santana recoiled at the racist slur, but conceded that at least they didn't know that she was a lesbian. 'You're in barrack number twelve. You may as well wait there until dinner, it's in twenty minutes,' he told her. She nodded, and walked away from him. 'You don't know where it is, freak' he called after her. Santana spun around and fixed the Nazi with a hard glare.

'I can find my way,' she said firmly, before turning on her heel and walking away. Sure enough, she found her barrack within a few minutes and went inside. The first thing that hit her was the smell. It was dirt and degradation and death, coming together to create a foul concoction in the air. There were no beds, just rows of hard wooden planks lining the walls. No blankets, no pillows. Santana knew it would be bad, but she didn't think it would be this bad. Who am I kidding, she thought, it's the fucking Nazis. Kindness is a foreign concept to them.

The barrack was deserted, except for a small, skinny girl. She was curled up, holding something that Santana couldn't see. 'Hello there,' she said, going towards the girl. She jumped, not having seen Santana, but looked relieved that she wasn't a Nazi. 'Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you,' she said.

'That's alright,' the girl said, hastily hiding her object. 'Are you new?' she asked. Santana nodded.

'Just arrived,' she confirmed. There was a pause.

'You can sleep here, if you like,' she offered.

'But this is your bed,' Santana said.

'You don't get your own bed. We have to fit three or four people in one space,' she explained. Santana raised her eyebrows, surprised.

'These Nazis just get better and better,' she muttered.

'I know,' the girl said glumly. They were silent for a moment, and Santana sat down next to the girl.

'I'm Santana,' she said, extending her hand.

'Rachel. Rachel Berry,' the girl returned, shaking her hand. Santana gasped.

'Rachel? Oh my god, it's you!' she exclaimed, enveloping her in a tight hug. 'I've seen a few pictures but you look different without your hair,' she said.

'I'm sorry, have we met?' Rachel said, utterly confused.

'No, no we haven't. I'm friends with Jesse,' she explained.

'He never mentioned you,' Rachel said.

'He wouldn't have been allowed. We're both part of a – a group, but I can't really tell you anything else. Sorry. But he's one of my best friends. He was with me the night that I was arrested by the Nazis,' she told a very surprised Rachel.

'How is he?' she asked.

'He's alright, I think. He thinks about you, all the time. He misses you so much, Rachel. And he hates himself for not trying to save you,' Santana answered.

Rachel nodded, taking this in. 'I'm glad that you're here. It gives me a connection to him,' she said.

'And I'm just glad to have a friend here. We are friends, aren't we?' Santana asked. Rachel nodded.

'I'd say so, yes,' she said, offering a smile, which Santana returned gratefully.

'So where is everyone?' Santana asked, glancing around the empty room.

'Probably at dinner,' Rachel presumed.

'I thought dinner wasn't for another few minutes,' Santana said.

'People like to get there early to line up. The first people there get more food,' she explained.

'Are you not hungry?' she asked. Rachel shook her head.

'I am, but it's sardines tonight, and I don't eat those,' she said. Santana nodded in understanding. 'Don't let me stop you, though,' Rachel said.

'I'm not hungry,' she said.

'That won't last long. Pretty soon you'll be in a permanent state of starvation,' she told Santana.

'I'm used to that,' she murmured. It was true; there had been many occasions throughout her life, when travelling, that they had run out of food and didn't have much money. Rachel nodded, but didn't ask what she meant. Santana realised after a moment of silence that she ought to tell Rachel a few things.

'Rachel, there's some things you should know, if we're going to be friends. And sharing a bed. Well. Sleeping space,' she said.

'What is it?' she asked.

'Well, first of all…I'm a gypsy,' she told her. Rachel nodded.

'Yes, I knew that because of the brown triangle,' she said, gesturing to Santana's uniform. Santana glanced down, and, indeed, there was a brown triangle stitched across the breast which she hadn't noticed before. 'I don't mind. I went to school with a boy who was a traveller,' Rachel assured her. Santana nodded, but was still a little nervous at what she had to say next.

'I'm glad you think like that. But that's not all I need to tell you. They – the Nazis – they don't know about this, so please keep it a secret. The thing is…I'm a – a lesbian,' she whispered, glancing around furtively. Rachel looked confused.

'A lez – what?' she asked.

'You don't know what a lesbian is?' Santana asked.

'I've never heard that word. What is it? What does it mean?' Rachel asked, her eyes perplexed.

'It's the term for a homosexual woman,' she whispered, but Rachel still looked blank.

'I don't know what that means either. Is it something to do with sex?' she asked.

Santana paused for a second, thinking how best to explain this. 'A homosexual is someone who has relations – has sex with – people of the same gender. So, a lesbian – me, I only have sex with other women. Not men,' she explained.

'Do you just not want to have sex with men?' Rachel asked.

'Not exactly…it's not that I don't want to. It's not really a choice. It's just who I am. It's what's in my heart. I've never felt the way about men that I do about women. I've never thought about men, in a sexual way, ever. I don't look at men in the same way. I just – it's just not me. I'm attracted to women,' Santana said. Rachel was quiet for a moment, thinking all of this over.

'Well, I've always tried not to judge people. I see everyone as the same, unless they're a murderer or something, obviously. And when I came here, I learned even more that you shouldn't judge people. We're all different. We're all special. And maybe the thing that makes you different is what makes you special. So…I am fine with you being a lesbanim,' Rachel concluded. Santana giggled.

'That was really, really nice, honestly. Thank you, Rachel. But it's lesbian, not lesbanim,' she told her. Rachel laughed.

'Oh my gosh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you,' she said, which made Santana laugh again.

'Seriously, thank you. That means a lot to me,' Santana told her. The two girls smiled at each other, in spite of everything.

'Having you here with me will make things more bearable,' Rachel said.

'Likewise,' Santana replied. 'So. Tell me everything about this place,' she asked.

* * *

'But WHEN are we going to do something?' Brittany asked in despair. Everyone stared at her. Puck and Quinn glanced at each other, unsure what to say. 'We keep saying that we're going to do something, we keep saying 'oh we'll get them back!' and 'oh we'll stop the Nazis!' but WE NEVER DO ANYTHING! We just sit here and learn about more and more problems without solving them! I need this war to be OVER!' she said, tears streaming down her face.

'Brittany, calm down,' Jesse murmured, and she turned swiftly, slapping him hard across the face.

'Don't talk to me! If it weren't for you, she'd still be here!' Brittany cried. Jesse didn't say anything – he knew that there was no point reasoning with her when she was in this state.

'We can't turn on each other,' Quinn said. Brittany promptly slid onto the floor and cried.

'I'll take her home,' Blaine said, passing Jesse his empty glass. 'Here, use the ice,' he said.

'Thank you,' Jesse said gratefully, grabbing a few chunks and holding them on his cheek. 'I'll see you tomorrow?' he asked. Blaine nodded.

'Tomorrow. Sorry about Brittany,' he apologised. Jesse dismissed this with a wave of his hand.

'Don't worry about it,' he said. As Blaine coaxed Brittany into standing, Sam suddenly rushed in.

'You're late,' Puck said. Sam was panting, out of breath. Then he saw Blaine, and dashed across the room, grabbing him by the shoulders.

'Blaine! Blaine, they're putting Kurt on a train. He's going to a camp,' Sam told him.

Blaine stood still for a second. This couldn't be real…this couldn't be happening. He frowned, trying to speak, but all that came out was a choked moan of despair. He tried to walk away, but his legs wouldn't work. Kurt. Kurt…in a camp. No.

He felt someone's arms around him – Jesse's? – and he fell backwards as everything went black, crying Kurt's name.

* * *

**_So much has gone misunderstood; this mystery only leads to doubt_**

* * *

**_What did you think? PLEASE REVIEW! I didn't have many last time and it was kind of saddening. It's so easy to review now, look! The box is right there infront of you! PLEASE REVIEW!_**


	7. Leave

_**ok ok ok. I am so sorry for the ridiculously long delay. I am sorry sorry sorry and if there is anyone actually reading this then I want to thank you for doing so. basically there was some personal shit and I've been struggling to find motivation to write. there has also been writer's block. and I'm in my final year of school so there is loads of work to do. anyway, sorry sorry again.**_

**_ok so this chapter...it gets dark. I'm not going to lie. I would also like to emphasise, as with everything that happens in this story - every sick thing that I write about is something that actually happened. I'm not making this up._**

**_also, it features lots of santana - this chapter is important with regards to her character. it won't always be like this - but when you read you'll see why I dedicated so much of it to her. _**

**_with that in mind, please read and enjoy!_**

**_reviews would be useful just to let me know if anyone is still reading this/still cares, so PLEASE review if you read this, thanks :)_**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Dear Rachel,

I miss you so much.

I know that statement is somewhat cliché, but it's true. I don't have any other way to explain my feelings, I'm not gifted like that. I don't have your way with words. You were the creative one. No. You _are_ the creative one. Why am I writing about you as if you're – –

I can't write it.

I know you're still here. Sam would have told me if you'd – gone. I still feel as if I've lost a part of myself, though. I lost you. You became a part of me, and now that you've gone I can't function in the same way. I put on the bravest of brave faces each day. I know that there are people in situations just like mine, and some even worse. But that doesn't stop me from being utterly miserable, not to mention angry. I just feel guilty for thinking like this. Lately, however, I've begun to realise that I shouldn't apologise for being human.

I'm just so frightened, Rachel. I'm frightened for you. I can hardly bear to imagine the things you're enduring right now, this very moment, whilst I sit in a sinfully huge apartment with a hot roaring fire, writing this letter to you. It makes me feel guilty all over again.

Santana has left now, too. Both my girls, gone. I only knew her for a short time, but we grew so close. As I stood there uselessly, watching them drag her away, I felt desperately sad. But soon I just became angry. Angry for what has happened to you, to Santana, and to all the others. I don't know exactly how many others there are, but I fear it may be hundreds.

Blaine is probably the closest friend I have left. He's wonderful. You'd like him, I'm sure. I hope that one day, the two of you will meet. And I long to meet Kurt after hearing so many good things. Kurt is Blaine's boyfriend – he's a homosexual. Well, they both are. Santana is also a homosexual. I can't believe we never talked about homosexuality before; I talk to Blaine and Santana – or I used to – and it's fascinating, Rachel, truly. They aren't all that different from you or I. Scratch that – they aren't different at all. Love is all the same.

That's not the only thing, though. Every day I remember something or discover something that I wish we'd been able to talk about. I loved talking to you. Lying on a roof and feeling your whisper-breath dance over my face as you shared your words, and in return I gave some quiet secrets. But everything was so simple then – so simple that it hurts to remember! What I'd give to have five minutes with you, anywhere, doing anything or everything or nothing; it wouldn't matter, because you would be there and I would be there and that's all I'll ever truly want from this life.

Love, Jesse.

* * *

Blaine woke abruptly, finding himself in an unfamiliar bed, unable to remember how he got there. Then, seeing Sam stood by the door, he remembered everything. 'Kurt,' he heard himself murmur.

Upon hearing Blaine's voice, Sam turned around. 'You're awake,' he said, stating the obvious.

'Kurt…where's Kurt?' Blaine found himself saying, somewhat incoherently.

'It's all my fault, I got you panicked for no reason. He's fine, Blaine, I promise – well. Not fine exactly, but you know what I mean,' Sam said hastily, his eyes apologetic.

Blaine sighed with numb relief. 'Wait…how…you're – you're certain?' he asked shakily. Sam nodded.

'Positive. They gave me this week's list of names, and I always check under B, for Rachel Berry, L, for Santana Lopez, and H, for Kurt Hummel, in case there are any changes. So I flipped through to the H's and then I saw the name 'Kurt' printed there. I got here as fast as I could to tell you, not even thinking to check properly. Turns out, it's some poor soul named Kurt Hamilton,' he explained.

'So Kurt – as in _my_ Kurt – he's safe? Well, as safe as he can be?' Blaine asked.

'Still in that cell, down at the police station. I checked,' Sam clarified. There was a brief pause as Blaine let the relief – what little there was – sink in, before Sam spoke again. 'I'm glad you're awake, but I have to go. There's a few things I need to do. I don't mean to be rude,' he said. Blaine nodded at the blonde man, thanking him. 'Sorry for panicking you unnecessarily,' Sam apologised, turning and leaving before Blaine could refute his apology.

'Are you alright?' came Jesse's voice from next to him. Blaine hadn't even noticed him there. He felt Jesse's comforting hand on his shoulder. As he nodded, and clasped the man's hand, Blaine looked around, realising that Jesse had carried him to the spare bed behind the bar, after he had fainted.

'Sorry for fainting. And thank you for…this,' he said, gesturing to the bed.

'It's nothing. I'm sure you'd do the same for me,' Jesse replied. Blaine considered.

'Well. You are considerably taller than me. I don't think I could carry you,' he said, managing to smile a little.

'You can do anything. The doubts are all in your head,' Jesse told Blaine softly. They shared a silent smile for a moment. Then Quinn entered, holding a plate of food.

'You're awake!' she said brightly. 'Here. I bought you some food. Even managed to nab a few eggs this morning,' she grinned, handing him a plateful of apple pancakes. Blaine's mouth watered.

'Oh my god…I've not had real pancakes for years!' he exclaimed, taking a huge bite of the sweet dough. The other two laughed as Blaine chewed. The food slowly grew sour in his mouth as he realised that Quinn had most likely used up all her rations just to feed him. His tongue was weighed down as the pancakes turned to guilty cardboard, and yet he couldn't object. So he expressed gratitude instead, thanking her for her hospitality. 'Also, I'm sorry for fainting,' he mumbled, a little embarrassed. She smiled gently.

'Don't apologise. You had every right to react the way you did. I was a wreck when they took Beth,' she told him, sadness colouring her expression as she remembered the day her child was taken from her. She excused herself before the tears started.

'Is she alright?' Jesse murmured, concerned.

'None of us are alright,' Blaine answered bluntly, taking a sip of milk. Both fell silent for a while, the only sounds the scraping of cutlery on china.

'When Brittany and I first came to Berlin, we bought apple pancakes and ate them on the side of the road,' Blaine said quietly. Jesse didn't say anything, listening to the memories. 'They weren't particularly good pancakes, but to this day, they are the best ones I've ever tasted – because every mouthful was freedom,' he reminisced.

'When did you first come here?' Jesse asked.

'When I was fourteen. She was thirteen. We had no money, and no-one wanted to give us a job. But finally, long story short, we found some stability. It's no lavish lifestyle, far from it, but we get by and I'm grateful for that, knowing how things could have turned out. Still could,' Blaine explained. He toyed with his fork for a moment before handing the plate to Jesse. 'I can't eat any more. Quinn gave me too many,' he said, not telling him the real reason.

'You're sure?' Jesse asked, reluctant to take food from a boy who struggled to feed himself, when Jesse had never had to think twice about food. It was always there for him. Blaine nodded his consent and Jesse ate some, finding that he was rather hungry. He'd been here all night, sat by Blaine's bed, thinking things over. 'I feel so empty,' Jesse heard himself say.

'You mean you're hungry?' Blaine questioned. Jesse shook his head, realising how his remark could easily be misinterpreted. He hastily clarified.

'Sort of – emotionally, I think? I just…Rachel was the only person I had. The only person I'd ever had any sort of strong feelings for. My parents and I, we aren't close by any means. I was raised by nannies, by people who weren't even related to me, people who were paid to spend time with me. My mother has never held me, not that I can remember anyhow. As for my father…I hardly know the man,' he said, letting the words tumble out of his mouth and linger on the air. 'Rachel was the only thing. And now she's gone, Blaine, and even though I have The Swing Youth, it's not enough. There's a gap that only she can fill,' Jesse said, voice wavering as he fought back tears. 'I'm worried that she'll never come back. And I'll be empty forever,' he explained. He had to take a moment to wipe away a few tears before continuing. 'Blaine, you and Santana have become so important to me. I love you both and I'm happy – ecstatic, even – to have you both in my life. But every moment I spend with you is too painful. Last night, I sat by your bed the whole time. I mean, I couldn't just leave you. But as the hours wore on, I felt more and more frightened. Because the closer we become, the more it will hurt when we're inevitably separated. I've already felt it, when they took Rachel, and later, Santana. I don't think I can handle losing you too,' he finished, now crying silent tears.

Blaine watched the man before him slowly break. 'I don't know what to say,' he whispered after a moment.

'You don't have to say anything. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all that. You're going through enough,' Jesse apologised quickly, instantly feeling stupidly weak for breaking down like that in front of another man. He ducked his head, embarrassed.

'Jesse,' Blaine said softly, placing a hand on the man's arm. Jesse raised his head, his own tear-swollen eyes meeting Blaine's, which were shining with tears they were yet to cry. 'Jesse,' he said again, taking his hand and clasping it firmly. 'Don't apologise for being human,' he told him. The man in front of him managed to crack a smile, albeit a very, very small one. But a smile nonetheless.

Happiness. It was a long way off, no question. But smiling felt like the only way to get through this hell.

* * *

Santana walked numbly down the dirty path, same as every day. The mud was slippery, and she almost fell once, twice, thrice, losing count of how far she was falling. The brown sludge clung to her feet and coated her toes, but she couldn't care. Feeling the slop of mud on her bare skin was so gloriously mundane, and it reminded Santana that she was alive.

The war had been going for about three years now, and whilst some people thought it couldn't possibly continue much longer, Santana knew different. She'd read history books. She knew that it could rage on and on and on, for many years yet. So she decided to keep her head down for the time being, maintaining a low profile until the inevitable end came. Fighting from within was useless. She had no weapons and there was only one of her, not to mention that she was terribly weak, weaker than she'd ever been in her life. Both emotionally and physically drained, Santana knew that she could never stand against the Nazis. Waiting was her only option.

It was the start of yet another day. Santana hadn't kept track, so she didn't know how long she'd been here. It most likely felt much longer than it actually had been, she reasoned. The ability to think clearly was something she had not quite lost yet.

It was still dark outside, so Rachel hadn't left for the fields yet. There hadn't been time to say goodbye that morning, because Santana had been taken away earlier than usual. She'd assumed that they were just starting work at a different time, but now she saw that they were not heading towards the factory like usual. One of the officers had come into the bunker and yelled out a handful of names, Santana's among them, and they'd left. There were about twelve of them, walking silently behind the officer. It was only as a few drops of rain began to fall that she realised – they all had brown triangles stitched onto their striped uniforms.

'Why only gypsies?' she wondered aloud in a soft, personal murmur. Her heart jolted when she realised that she'd spoken out of turn, and she braced herself for a harsh reprimand. When none came, Santana breathed a sigh of relief. Had the Nazis decided to be nice today, or something? Understanding dawned on her – the hammer of rain on the steel roofs all around them was deafening, and easily masked small sounds. Nazis were not nice, she thought, rolling her eyes at her own stupidity. The brief instance of relief at not being heard vanished just as quickly when they began heading towards a building Santana hadn't seen before. They had walked quite far out, and were now significantly distanced from the rest of the camp. She didn't even know the paths were this long. Her heart leapt into her mouth, beating, beating, beating, too quickly, and she fought to catch her breath. She tried to calm herself, telling herself that everything would be alright. Yet, she felt uneasy as the officer opened the small, metal door, and as they were led inside, Santana felt overwhelmingly that everything was not alright.

She was momentarily comforted by the fact that the officer was going in there with them – but the petrifying nausea did not relent. Despite this, she forced herself to look neutral. She would not be like the woman next to her, who had tears coursing down her gaunt, pale face. She would not be like the girl in front of her who stared angrily at the Nazis, her small bony fists clenched by her sides. No, Santana let no expression colour her features. She wouldn't give them anything.

They were made to stand in a line, and then an officer asked their names, checking them one by one on a list that he held in his plump, glove-bound hand. Santana's mouth was dry when her turn came, and she had to repeat herself. Following this, the officers – four – exited, leaving the prisoners alone. None of them dared to move, or even speak at first; they were so frightened. When it became evident that they were not going to return for some time yet, several women, Santana among them, sat on the floor. She was grateful for this brief opportunity to rest her throbbing legs.

Observing the others, she noticed two women stealing glances at each other. The pair of them looked furtive, nervous, and Santana watched anxiously. The sequence of events that followed happened very quickly, almost simultaneously, amid screams and gunshots that culminated in chaos.

One of the women said, low and ominously, 'now', looking into the other's eyes meaningfully, as if to say 'this is it'. Instantly, both sprang into action; one darting to the door and pulling it open – of course! Santana realised: the officer hadn't locked the door – and the other woman stepped outside.

'It's safe!' She exclaimed, her face breaking into an enormous, victorious grin, her entire body restless, swaying and swinging with nervous excitement. The other woman flew out of the door, an identical grin painted on her face, and then the women were running, the doorway framing a masterpiece of hope. All of this happened in about twenty seconds or so, Santana would later approximate upon recalling the events.

Santana's heart pounded in her chest; she was desperate to run after them and be free again, join them on their great escape…oh, she hadn't been free for so long! But then, just as suddenly as it had all started, there was a bone-crunching bang, and the bodies fell to the ground, limp and motionless, and thus, it was all over. A Nazi smudged the picture upon entry, kicking them roughly to ensure their demise. Santana's heart was now sinking, the pounding excitement all gone as the officers gathered, laughing over the murders.

And the worst of that day was still yet to come.

* * *

It was after midnight and Kurt was wide awake, despite the fact that the lights had gone out several hours ago. He wasn't the only man unable to sleep by any means, but that thought didn't exactly comfort him.

Sebastian had been moved into Kurt's cell. The Nazis were unrelenting in their quest to rid Germany of homosexuals, and as a consequence the cells were fast filling. Kurt knew it was only a matter of time before he was sent off to a camp. It was the only practical solution, he thought bitterly. He tugged his thin, useless blanket over his shoulders, shivering. Summer was ending far too quickly and the days grew shorter, darker and colder all at once.

'Kurt,' came Sebastian's soft whisper beside him. 'Are you awake?' he asked.

'You can't sleep either?' Kurt murmured back, but it wasn't really a question, so the other boy gave no answer. 'I didn't understand it, at first. But now I think it might be fear. I think – I think I'm too scared to sleep' he revealed quietly.

'I don't get scared. Ever,' Sebastian said. It was almost true.

'It's unconscious – we don't actually realise that we are scared. That's what I think anyway,' Kurt suggested. Sebastian didn't respond, but silently agreed with his friend.

The morning crept in too quickly, and Sebastian found himself sitting at the same dull table, eating the same dull bread and watching the same dull faces of the surrounding men. The food – what little there was – always tasted foul. He'd turned his nose up at it in the beginning, but as the days wore on, his stomach growled all the more and Sebastian found himself giving in. At first he'd chewed slowly and swallowed like it was a chore – the food was disgusting and yet he couldn't get enough. Hunger was tricky. After a while, he learned to just get the eating over with. He knew there was no pleasure to be found in a burned slice of bread, a congealed cup of soup or whatever swill the Nazis tried to pass as a meal – why bother to try and find something that did not exist? So now, like every other morning, Sebastian stuffed the tiny morsel into his mouth and chewed it quickly, not tasting, then swallowing and shoving more in before his mouth had a chance to be empty. Soon he had eaten all the bread – not that there was much to begin with – and was left with a dry mouth and a slight pain in his stomach from eating too quickly. He did this deliberately so as to make himself feel nauseous, and thus, no longer hungry. The pain in his stomach had now been present for so long that the boy could no longer tell if it was hunger or false nausea. And this pain was not isolated – his entire body throbbed and ached, one of many constants in this hell.

Kurt only ate a little of the bread, unable to find the will, nor need, to consume. He tore the doughy lump into tiny shreds, which he toyed with absently, rolling the pieces into small spheres and flicking them about. Recently, Kurt had been playing with his food rather than eating it. Like all the others, he was hungrier than he'd ever been in his life – and he'd faced some truly hard times throughout his sixteen years – yet, he never wanted to eat. He had no appetite. A naturally slim boy, Kurt had become terribly thin over the past few weeks, though nothing compared to some of the other men. Sebastian's bones jutted unpleasantly, skin stretched over tightly like wax. His eyes seemed larger; great orbs of despair wearing dark circles beneath the lower lashes. It was a painful sight. Kurt assumed that he himself didn't look much better, and dreaded the prospect of how his appearance would worsen over the coming weeks.

He hadn't considered the possibility of dying here. His determination, his will to survive – it fuelled him, spurring him on, as did his intense love for Blaine. Dying was not an option. He held out a little hope that someone, anyone, would come and rescue him – but deep down, he knew that this was never going to happen. Getting rescued simply wasn't an option, Kurt had come to realise, and neither was dying. His only hope was to endure.

Or escape.

* * *

They'd been in this room for the past half hour or so, waiting whilst the Nazis dealt with the situation outside. Santana was thirsty. The constant hungry ache was something she'd become used to by now, but the thirst burned, transforming her throat into a personal Sahara. She'd missed breakfast that day, due to being woken so early, and thus had lost her only chance to quench the fire until dinner.

Santana would have asked if anyone knew what was happening, but none of the women dared utter a word. Everyone seemed thoroughly shaken after two people had died in cold blood before their eyes, but that hadn't fazed Santana. Besides building up a very tough, very thick skin, she'd seen death before, too many times, and as a result she had become somewhat immune. She wasn't sure exactly when this had happened. It just had. It was good, she supposed, because it meant she wasn't constantly reduced to an emotional mess of depression, as was the case with Rachel. The rafters they lay on would shudder and shake every single night as Rachel violently sobbed herself into a sleep that wasn't truly sleep.

Footsteps sounded, coming from the corridor behind them. Uniformed, cold clacking; wide-heeled boots, advancing over the hard hallway floor in haunting polyphony with the ominous cocking of guns. Nazis. As if on cue, the women stood up, those who weren't already; nerves and tension pricking every inch of their bodies and they became stone. Not Santana. She stood tall and steady, her expression calm as stone. When the Nazis entered, everyone's head drooped, eyes fixed firmly on the floor in an attempt to hide the tears accumulating there. Not Santana. She met their gazes, her eyes as dry as her mouth. The men noticed this, and seemed irritated.

They hadn't made her quake in fear like the rest of them. Santana felt the smallest, briefest swell of pride that they hadn't gotten to her. It warmed her from within, just for a moment, her heart turning cold again just as quickly.

The Nazis checked their names against yet another list, and muttered amongst themselves for a moment. Then another one entered, bearing two large pitchers of water, followed by another who held a tray of cups. Santana's dark eyes were glued to the water. She wanted to snatch a pitcher right out of his enormous privileged hand and pour the beautiful, clear liquid down her painfully dry throat, before grabbing the other and doing the same. Surely she'd never be thirsty again, if she did that. But she hastily shook herself out of this dangerously impractical fantasy and remained focused. Santana's heart sank as she realised that the fantasies she had now were about drinking water. This was what they had reduced her life to.

* * *

Jesse watched as the car drove away, his parents inside. They'd barely been home and now they were going away again. He knew there was something wrong; there was sadness in his mother's eyes and his father seemed more tense than usual. They didn't tell him where they were going, just that they wouldn't see him until after Christmas. Jesse had to stay in Berlin; school was starting again soon. He had no intention, however, of actually attending.

As soon as they'd been gone for at least half an hour – by which time they'd be well on their way – Jesse left the apartment and headed over to where Blaine and Brittany lived. It was cold outside and a long walk besides, so he rode a tram. As he sat in the rickety box-car, Jesse began constructing an idea. Upon arrival, he climbed up the cold stone steps, grimacing at the putrid stench of stale urine. Selfishly, he felt grateful that it was not he who lived here. Arriving at their battered, peeling door, Jesse knocked seven times.

Blaine answered the door and looked surprised, but nonetheless happy, to see him.

'Jesse? What are you doing here?' he asked, stepping aside to allow his friend to enter. Blaine quickly glanced around the empty hallway before closing the door and locking it in four different places. 'Brittany gets worried,' he explained, noticing Jesse's confused expression. 'So,' Blaine said, cuing Jesse to speak.

'I have a proposition for you,' Jesse began, skipping pleasantries. Blaine looked at him quizzically, waiting for him to continue, so he did. 'My parents have left Berlin – again, I know – and won't be returning for several months. I therefore insist that you and Brittany come to live in my apartment instead of…here,' he said.

Blaine looked taken aback by the offer. 'Well that's certainly very generous, Jesse, but I'm not sure I can,' he said, choosing his words carefully. Blaine had built this life for himself with no help. He'd always had to look after himself. He'd never been dependent. And he certainly didn't want to start now. But at the same time, he knew that this apartment wouldn't be safe for much longer. It was barely safe now. He and Brittany knew that they were hanging on by a thread. The thread frayed each day, little by little, and Blaine knew that it was going to snap very, very soon. It wouldn't be weak to accept necessary help, would it?

'Blaine. Please. You can't stay here. It's not safe,' Jesse implored.

'I don't think Brittany will like the idea. You know how she feels about you,' Blaine said, but it was only a half-hearted objection.

'I know. I know. I blame myself,' Jesse replied, holding up a hand to stop Blaine inevitably coming to his defence. 'Don't. I should have done something,' he said, head in his hands as he tried not to cry again.

'But what?'

'I don't know,' he murmured.

'See? There was nothing you could have done,' Blaine began.

'Please. Stop. I could have done something. There's always something,' Jesse spoke quietly. There was a pause. Blaine knew it was futile to argue with him; Jesse was convinced that the fault lay solely with himself. Jesse spoke again after a moment. 'Anyway. That's not what I want to talk about. Blaine, I'm not asking anymore; that was a formality. You are coming to stay with me and that is the end of it,' he said firmly. 'I'll talk to Brittany. And if she refuses to live under my roof, then I will find an alternative. Neither of you are staying in this – this place, any longer. It is not safe,' he said forcefully.

Blaine bit his lip. He wanted to say yes, he really did. But this apartment, despite having very little in the way of security or material goods, held more memories and meaning than any other place in the world. It was the first place he had ever lived that was actually a home, as opposed to a place to exist with a roof over his head, as had been the case previously. It was where he and Brittany had held hands, pretending to be in love, lying to the landlord, and where they had embraced and cried when they were given the key. It was where he and Kurt had first had sex, in his little bed in his little room, mere feet away. It was where he and Kurt had whispered things in the darkness, secrets and promises and love and despair. He no longer had Kurt, but as long as he still lived here, he still had the memories. The Nazis couldn't erase Kurt from his mind. Also – and he knew this was ridiculous – he had some crazy, mad hope that one day, Kurt would turn up on the doorstep, just like old times, and kiss him with a fierce, burning longing. A passion so strong, removing the past months from time altogether. Blaine knew this simply wouldn't happen, never. But what if it did, somehow, and he wasn't here? What if Kurt arrived to an empty apartment? He would think Blaine had left him.

'Jess, I just –'

'Dammit, Blaine, I can't lose you too,' Jesse shouted. 'Not you too. Rachel has gone. Santana has gone. Whoever is next, it can't be you, it can't,' he said, beginning to cry silent tears. Blaine reached out and hugged him hard.

'Sorry. I'll – I'll come. I understand. I don't want to lose you either,' he said, as Jesse clasped his hand and just held onto it. Blaine returned his shaking iron grip, the only thing he had left to hold.

* * *

Two of the Nazis left, leaving their colleagues with the women. The lock clicked into place and Santana now had no doubt about what was going on. It seemed to be some sort of experiment. They'd poured the water into cups and all the women had taken one, Santana included. Part of her felt suspicious that the water was poisoned or something similar – but that wouldn't make sense, she reasoned; if the Nazis wanted to kill them, then surely they would have simply lined the women up and shot them one by one? It would have been much quicker, involving far less hassle, she reasoned. But then she realised that nothing the Nazis ever did was reasonable, or made any sense. So Santana took the cup that was handed to her, trying to stop her hand from shaking, and feeling a nervous sweat prick her back. She slowly raised the vessel to her mouth, noticing that the Nazis were carefully watching them all, pens poised over their clipboards. She glanced around, realising that she was the only one who had even come close to taking a sip. The others were clutching their cups worriedly, all desperate to quench their thirst, but scared to do so.

'Drink,' ordered one of the officers. He was wearing a white coat, as were several of them, all holding guns. Following his command, most of the women raised their cups hesitantly, but did not drink. One of the white-coat Nazis rolled his eyes.

'It's just water. It's not going to kill you,' he assured them coldly. Santana's sharp eyes caught the smirks and raised eyebrows exchanged between some of the other officers, who hastily hid their reactions behind clipboards and false coughs. She narrowed her eyes, now thoroughly convinced that something was not quite right. Why would a specially chosen, specifically selected group of traveller women be made to walk to other side of the camp and kept in this small room for so long, only to be given a glass of water? It was completely illogical, and as she scanned her eyes over the other women, Santana saw that she clearly wasn't the only one who thought so. But as one of the Nazis cocked his gun threateningly, she knew that she had two options: refuse to drink and be shot dead, or drink and take the risk of possibly dying. Potential death sounded better than certain death, so she hurriedly set the lip of the cup on her own and drank.

She gagged, a reflex, almost spitting out the foul substance. But she forced herself to swallow. Santana carefully took another, small mouthful, and let it linger for a moment, grimacing as she allowed herself to actually taste it. Salt water, she realised. She took a few more sips, holding her breath and gulping them down quickly to avoid actually tasting it, for it was terrible, and so awfully unexpected. She wasn't stupid. Drinking the salt water was not optional. She looked at the Nazis, who were watching everyone with great interest, the white-coats jotting hungrily on their clipboards. Boldly, Santana locked eyes with one of them and took a long, deliberate sip of salt water. She kept her expression neutral as she swallowed it, then lifted the cup again to take another sip, almost immediately, and continued in this way for a short while. She'd soon, to her relief, emptied the cup, and the Nazi she was looking at stared back at her, his expression an odd combination of confusion, apprehension, mild shock and…a sort of admiration.

Her antics had not gone unnoticed by the others. All eyes seemed to be on her as she crossed the room to place the cup on the tray, and uttered no sound as she turned her back to them and sat down, a smile ghosting across her lips. Santana crossed her legs and placed her hands over them, clasping her fingers together to stop them from shaking with anger, gritting her teeth and keeping her lips firmly pressed into one so as to prevent her thirsty tongue from saying anything. She was livid. It was all too clear now; the careful selection – all of them female, all of them travellers – the meticulous name checking, the Nazis in white coats, the scribbling of notes on clipboards, the scrutinising observations…it was a sick, twisted test, an experiment. And she was nothing more than a disposable guinea pig to them. Santana had never heard of anything like this. The Swing Youth knew nothing about it…Sam didn't know a damn thing, she realised. If Sam didn't know…then this particular part of the operation must be a huge secret.

People had to know. This had to be exposed. She'd wanted to contact her friends since her arrival at Westerbork, Brittany especially. That went without saying. But now, now that she knew of this hideous experiment, Santana was desperate to send word. She found herself sitting there, watching the other women who were still struggling with their salt water, none of them even close to finishing, fervently wishing that she could send someone a letter about what was happening around her. To her. Well, no, she mentally corrected herself – if she was making wishes, it was to get out of this place, to leave and never come back. To see Brittany's face again, to take her in her arms and hold her, as she had done so many times. Brittany's head would rest in the crook of her neck, and Santana would inhale the sweet roses of her milky skin, engulfed in the heavy scent of her blonde waves. Santana just wanted to hold her girlfriend, the one she loved, because she hadn't held anyone for so long now. And Brittany was the only one she truly wanted to hold. Their bodies fit perfectly.

Once, Brittany told Santana that she firmly believed that they were made to be together. That they were created to be together, and from that moment of birth, they had been destined to find each other. Santana had been sceptical at first, but as time went on and their love grew bigger, deeper and more complex, she had begun to agree with Brittany. Because, truthfully, she hadn't ever felt whole until Brittany came into her life. She had been alright. She managed to get through the days. But there hadn't ever been a reason, a purpose. She didn't know why she was living, why she existed. But now, Santana had no doubt in her heart that she was on this earth for Brittany. She knew, now, that they were made for one another. Because nothing felt truly right without her. Never really whole.

And now, love was not here. Now, Santana slept lonely, her arms holding onto nothing. Now, she kept too many conversations in her head, because some words were only right for love's ears. Now, Santana felt emptier and emptier as the days wore on and the nights wore on, weaving themselves into an timeless torment with no end. Now, she was sitting in a cold room, hard floor, her throat rough and dry, trying to appear unaffected and trying to hide the tears that she was pushing down, down, down. Alone and loveless in the worst place that could ever exist. That much she was certain of, for there was no love here. This sickening place with its hellish bounty; an abundance of hate, torture, despair and longing. Longing for something left behind, something long gone and something utterly inaccessible.

* * *

Jesse walked through the familiar gates of his school. He'd been here many times before, of course he had - but he'd never come alone. Except for that one week last year when Rachel had been ill.

and he was simultaneously not speaking to his friends Jake and Ryder due to a small argument that had seemed life-alteringly serious at the time, but looking back, was pathetically insignificant. As he walked, he tried to keep his head up. A bowed head and slow pace was suspicious, but then, so was a too-confident, jaunty saunter. Finding the balance was a precise art, one which Jesse had not quite mastered yet. So he hoped for the best. Besides, this was school. Much as he often loathed the place, it was at least safe. He was doubtful that anything serious would happen today, and he didn't

expect anything to have drastically changed here. The absence of Rachel was something he'd already become used to, much to his dismay, and as he came into the entrance hall and breathed in the familiar odour of wood polish and stress, it was evident that Jesse would have to endure the absence of many other students too.

The first day back after the summer holidays was supposed to be busy, the corridors bustling with gaggles of students, the atmosphere buzzing with chatter and laughter as friends greeted each other with anecdotes and exaggerations. But not today. Jesse looked around, less than half of the student body populating the area. Those that were present only seemed so in the physical sense. Depression and ignorance coloured the air, and he wished he'd kept in contact with some of his classmates over the summer to find out what had been going on. It was only as he saw Ryder waving at him that Jesse abruptly realised that Jake wouldn't be here anymore. Jake was Jewish and was probably in a camp like most of the others. He mentally kicked himself for forgetting this.

'Hello Jesse,' Ryder greeted him curtly.

'Rye,' Jesse used his nickname.

'It's Ryder,' he corrected him. Jesse looked at his friend in surprise. They'd been calling him Rye since they were twelve. Upon closer inspection, Ryder seemed...not quite the same. His hair was rigidly combed with wax, his clothes were pressed painfully tight and his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. 'You seem...ah,' Jesse couldn't find the words. 'Different?' Ryder suggested. He laughed, but it wasn't his real laugh. It was dry and fake. 'I've had a fantastic summer, Jesse. Truly remarkable. How was yours?' he asked. 'Oh, nothing particularly special,' Jesse answered casually. There was no way Ryder was going to find out about what he'd been doing this summer. 'I miss Rachel, of course,' he added.

'How could you ever miss that?' Ryder spat disdainfully. Jesse frowned.

'Because I love her,' he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 'And don't talk about her in that way, Ryder. Don't you miss Jake?' he asked.

'Hardly. I'm glad he's gone. Rachel too,' Ryder stated calmly.

Jesse stared at his friend in disbelief, growing angry. 'What happened to you? Jake was your best friend,' he said incredulously.

'I've seen sense, Jesse. Tell me, have you read this?' Ryder asked, retrieving a small book from within his satchel. It was a copy of Mein Kampf. Jesse shook his head, the reason for his friend's change becoming all too clear. He couldn't quite believe what was happening. Hitler had destroyed Ryder, one of the strongest people Jesse knew. Was there nothing the Nazis couldn't do? He felt the book being pressed into his hands. 'You ought to read it. It was an utter revelation, Jesse, it's changed my life. For the better' Ryder told him. Jesse firmly pushed the indoctrination away.

'No thank you,' he said quietly. It was then that he noticed a gold swastika pinned to Ryder's shirt, and Jesse almost cried. He walked away, not realising the possible implications of his actions until later.

* * *

'Where were you this morning?' Rachel's voice greeted her. Santana frowned questioningly, not altogether there. Rachel explained; 'This morning. I woke up and you weren't here. Some of the others were missing too, I think. I was a little worried,' she explained.

Santana opened her mouth, about to tell Rachel everything about the events that had transpired that morning. But as she looked into the girl's big brown eyes, she hesitated. Rachel was younger than her. So much – too much – of her innocence had already been taken away. Rachel's eyes were still bright, though. And beneath the dark circles and wind-chapped skin lurked a fresh face, full of youth and hope. Santana was momentarily struck at how much light and faith Rachel still had within, after everything. She bit her lip, not saying anything. She couldn't tell Rachel what had gone on in that room. She wasn't broken, yet, and Santana would not be the one to bring all her walls crashing down. So she shook her head.

'It was nothing. I was needed in the factory slightly earlier than usual. That's all', she lied smoothly. Rachel accepted the untruth easily, and who could blame her – Santana was highly apt at twisting reality into her own shape. Rachel was saying something else but Santana couldn't focus; her head was aching and she had to curl up on the wooden bunk, closing her eyes. She knew this was dehydration. After a moment, she heard Rachel's voice die away, clearly assuming that Santana was sleeping. She could hear other voices and movements around her, and could feel Rachel's silent presence next to her. This comforted her, knowing that she was not quite alone. But now, she was alone with her thoughts, at least, and Santana could no longer ignore the fierce burning in her mouth. She desperately wanted a drink. Of anything. Anything but that salt water, she mentally corrected. She thought about dewy apple juice, its crisp sweetness filling her mouth. She recalled tangy orange juice, from before the war, sharp and refreshing. Earthy tea to calm her and bitter coffee that shocked her senses, offset with a cool dash of cream. Rich wine, fruity and thick, coating her throat, and whisky – liquid gold that trickled through her veins like hot oil and lit a fire in the pit of her stomach. And water, of course. Water. The drink that had always seemed too plain and unexciting to desire or savour. But now she craved it. Santana wanted the simplicity of pure water, all over her, beautifully basic, cleansing her whole soul. It was one of many things she'd never really had to think about before now, and now that she was without it, she couldn't function properly. Santana sighed, and vowed there and then to never take water for granted, ever again.

Her life had not been easy by any means; her life had been damn hard. But compared to the past few weeks, compared to right now, her entire life had been one long midnight in Paris. She sighed. Paris. She'd been there once, a long time ago. It was a magical city. The buildings, the lights, the river, the food…it was the stuff of fairytales and yet it existed. The atmosphere on those streets and the spirit of the people there had given her a sense of belonging, a certain bliss, and fulfilment that she had only ever found since in Brittany. Her heart jolted miserably as she realised that she would never see neither Brittany, nor Paris again. Without them, she was lost and purposeless.

Santana sat up slowly, ignoring her pounding head, and glanced around the room. Some women must have gone to eat dinner, judging by how empty the room was. Rachel was still there, playing with some long blades of grass she must have taken from the fields that day. No, not playing – Santana looked a little closer and saw that she was weaving them into something, her bony fingers swiftly twisting and knotting the blades with a deft capability. Santana watched her silently for a moment before speaking.

'You didn't have to wait for me. You could have gone to dinner, I wouldn't have minded. Sorry,' she said quietly, her voice scratchy and dry.

Rachel shook her head. 'It's fine', she murmured, lost in her work. Santana needed to go to the dining room – not for the food, but for the small cup of water they were given each evening. Opening her mouth to tell Rachel, the other girl spoke. 'Don't let me stop you from going, if you want to,' she told her.

Santana stood up, turning to leave. 'Sorry for falling asleep when you were talking, before. I just…I'm so tired, she told Rachel, only exposing a fraction of the truth behind her exhaustion.

'Don't worry. Honestly. I understand,' Rachel replied, glancing up to meet Santana's eyes briefly, giving her a half smile. There was a long gash down one of Rachel's cheeks, the skin around it a swollen, angry red. The wound itself was dark, beginning to congeal.

'What happened to your face?' Santana asked, taking in her friend's somewhat battered appearance.

Rachel shrugged. 'I don't want to talk about it,' she mumbled, ducking her head.

'They did it,' Santana stated bluntly. Rachel nodded wordlessly. Santana didn't say another word, and left.

She felt momentarily guilty for dismissing Rachel like that, but the girl had said quite plainly that she didn't want to talk about it. So while Santana felt she ought to respect her friend's wishes, she also felt that she had a responsibility to Jesse; a duty, out of loyalty more than anything, to ensure that Rachel was managing to survive. But the girl was so secretive. Santana had no idea what Rachel was feeling, about any of this. She seldom wanted to talk about anything. Santana had tried to engage her, many times, trying different topics of conversation each time, but nothing seemed to spark her interest. Or maybe she just didn't want to talk to Santana. She shrugged away these thoughts as she arrived at the dining hall. She entered, inhaling the all too familiar scent of mould, damp and a sort of metallic smell. The whole room reeked of rot and sadness.

She had been in the room all of a minute when she felt a hand on her shoulder, firm and chilling. Santana turned around, her stomach sinking, knowing what was coming. Her gaze was met with cold, calculating eyes, their penetrating abhorrence familiar to Santana. He was one of the officers from earlier, the one who had shot those women and laughed about afterwards. Santana kept her expression as neutral as she could and waited for him to speak.

'You? Lopez, yes?' She nodded stiffly. 'Get out. You won't be consuming anything this evening,' he told her, barely masking his glee, then paused, clearly hoping for her reaction, and with it, an excuse to abuse. When she remained mute, he continued, a little irked. 'Go to the bunker next door. There are…provisions there for you,' he told her, his plump lips stretching into a sick smile.

'I understand,' Santana spoke, her voice flat, quiet and clipped. She left, managing to remain composed, walking solidly until she reached the communal toilet block. Once inside, she promptly fell onto the floor, crying. She ignored the stench of fresh vomit, old piss and filthy, diseased shit. She sobbed openly for a moment, exhausted in every sense. It was only as she began to wipe her eyes on her ragged sleeve that it dawned on her: she was on a bathroom. Santana frantically scrambled towards the sink, turning the crappy tap on with her remaining strength and the gorgeous water gushed out of the faucet like a waterfall of liquid crystal. She shoved her face into the fountain, opening her mouth and drank deeply, not caring when the water ran eagerly across her face. She soaked her thirsty mouth, drinking more than ever before, more even than that weekend in August last year when the sun had been too hard and the air too dry, more even than when she ran halfway across Berlin to get away from the man who followed her in his car, more even than when she'd vomited all night and the aftertaste was particularly stubborn. Santana sighed with satisfaction and relief as her desert mouth gulped and gulped. She was laughing, almost, as she realised that the Nazis hadn't even considered that she could run into the bathroom. But her elation was hideously abolished as the door swung open and she froze, turning around slowly with guilty water dribbling down her chin.

* * *

When the final bell rang, signalling the end of the school day, Jesse wanted to run as fast as he could. But that would make him stand out. It would be suspicious. So he walked out of school, swift and smooth, his face blank. He mounted his bicycle and rode through the busy streets - not as busy as they used to be, he noted. He ignored the posters on the walls around him, his fingers itching to rip every single one down and burn them to ashes. He stopped himself. It was just another thing that simply couldn't be done. Finally arriving at his apartment building, he raced up the stairs, two at a time - no need to be wary here - all the while thinking about the time he and Santana had heard the Nazis' thundering footsteps ascending these same steps. He'd climbed them on many occasions since that night, and yet he still flashed back to that terrible night every time. He slammed the door behind him, calling out 'Boy, it's good to be home' as he took off his shoes. Jesse said these same words whenever he entered the apartment so that Blaine would know it was him. Sure enough, the other man emerged from a room down the hall, knowing it was safe.

'Afternoon,' Blaine greeted. As he walked towards Jesse, he saw that his friend was starting to cry.

'Jesse? What's wrong?' he said, resting his hand on Jesse's shoulder.

'Everything,' he said, voice thick with tears, collapsing onto Blaine's shoulder as he cried.

Blaine gently lead him over to the couch and Jesse told him everything while Blaine held him. 'It's alright to cry,' he told Jesse. 'Don't -'

'Don't tell me to not apologise for being human,' Jesse murmured. 'I feel awful for crying. We're the same, you and I. So who am I to cry while you're going through the same? And yet you always manage to stay so strong. How can I cry when Rachel is going through goodness knows what...' his voice trailed off.

'You're allowed to react, Jesse, your feelings are valid,' Blaine said calmly, trying not to correct him.

Jesse shook his head. 'You have to hide. You've always had to hide and lie, about who you are, and what you feel. And you probably always will,' he explained sadly.

'Don't you understand? That's why we're not the same! We can never be the same. I wish this wasn't the case, but this is reality and we cannot pretend like we're going through the same hell, or that we ourselves are no different from each other. Because that's not true. And I don't think that it ever will be,' Blaine exploded, now crying too.

'No - don't - talk like that...so, maybe we're not the same,' Jesse began, but Blaine interrupted.

'But that's not for you to say, Jesse, because I am the one who is inferior, and it's you: the so-called normal people who oppress me and make me feel worthless every single day. Yes, we have both lost our loved ones. But I never even truly had mine in the first place because I have never been allowed to have him! I am a homosexual. And that's never going to change, no matter how much I wish it could sometimes, and because of this; because I have this trait that I cannot change, I'm going to be stifled and silenced every waking moment for the rest of my life, if things don't change. And as optimistic as I am, I don't think they will change. And you can sympathise all you want, but that's all you can do because you will never understand. You will never have to go through this secret hiding and this second - hell, third class - status that I endure. When Rachel was here you held her hand and you walked through the streets together. You could say whatever you wanted, you could tell her you loved her, every minute of every hour of every day, you - you kissed her lips as many times as you wanted. You never had to think twice. You don't have to glance over your shoulder when you walk through this city. You don't have to confine yourself to certain safe places because everywhere is your safe place. You don't have to watch your words the way I do and you don't have to keep one eye open when you sleep at night. You - you have so much privilege, Jesse, that you just take for granted. You had sex with her outside! In the open!' he spluttered incredulously. 'And yes, I know sexual relations in public is illegal and yes, if you were caught you'd have been punished, no doubt. But do you know what would happen if I had sex with K-Kurt in public? Our act is no different to yours, but we would be punished so much more. I don't even want to think about it. Kurt is living it,'

Blaine took a deep breath before continuing, more quietly, 'if I so much as smiled at him too widely. Or allowed my eyes to linger on his a little longer than necessary? No. You have no idea, of course you don't. You've never had to think about it. You're normal. You're not wrong. You're not sick, you're not depraved,' he spat angrily.

'But you're not wrong,' Jesse began, but Blaine cut across him.

'Oh, well done! You overcame all of their beautiful bullshit, you saw through their smoke screen of lies, and realised a basic truth! I am past just being happy when someone accepts me as a homosexual. Do you need some sort of prize, some type of award for being a decent human being? Well I'm not going to give you one - you get nothing, because I too have nothing! Thank you for acknowledging me as an equal and for not believing I should be punished or murdered for being who I am. That's it, that's all you get from me. When Kurt was here, I could only hold his hand in three places. Three places, in all of Berlin, in this enormous city. There were only three safe places. And even then we had to be careful. I could only kiss him behind closed doors, and even then I had to be prepared for someone finding out. When we had sex, when we made love for the first time, I had to be prepared for him to report me - I had to be prepared in case it was all a setup, to catch me. You do not have to live with these boundaries and these walls, Jesse, you never and you never will.'

'I didn't ask - '

'Oh, do you think that I asked? Do you think that I asked to be born like this? Do you think that I asked to grow up ashamed and scared and convinced that I had a disease? Do you think I asked to be made to hide myself, obscure the essence of what makes me me? Do think that I asked the great minds of the Reichstag to condemn my love as a crime, punishable by death? Do you think that I asked for them to conceive that idea and approve it, and sign it into law? Do you think I asked for the love of my life to be torn out of my arms and taken away, just because he is a boy and I am a boy? No. I never asked for any of this, Jesse. And trust me, nobody ever would. I can't speak for my future, but for now, I am less and you are more. I am wrong and you are right. I am bad and you are good. I am nothing. And you are everything. And there's no good reason for it.' Blaine was breathing quickly, his eyes shining with tears.

Jesse put his hand on Blaine's arm, trying to calm him, and spoke gently, trying to calm him down. 'It's because -'

'No. Don't,' Blaine shook off Jesse's hand. 'Please,' he said, now crying, silent tears slowly but surely running down his face. 'Don't give a reason, for none exists. Don't excuse it, don't explain it. Don't justify it. I'm not going to stay and listen to a reason,' Blaine crossed the room, heading for the door, wiping his face.

'Blaine - please,' Jesse begged feebly. He couldn't live here alone. And more importantly, he couldn't lose Blaine too. Not after everything else he'd lost.

'No. I'm done, Jesse,' Blaine told him softly. He began buttoning his coat as he spoke. 'At least you have a school. And parents. And a home. Money, food, clothes, warmth. You have that, at least. I don't,' he finished, closing the door behind him with a firm clunk of finality.

Jesse remained on the sofa, the sound of Blaine's sad footsteps growing distant until only silence remained. And that's when Jesse realised that he was truly alone.

He let out a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a sigh as he stared at the deserted space before him, no longer occupied by Blaine. He spoke to the empty air, a stream of desperate incoherent whispers, running his hands through his hair again and again. He slid onto the floor, his arms wrapped tightly around his body. Jesse landed with a small thump, and he began breathing very heavily, his breath catching every so often, emitting a tiny, strangled sound. It was almost a sob.

Jesse couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't go on like this. He had to try harder. He had to be better. He had to do something about everything. He had no idea how. He would, though, one day. One day he'd have hundreds of ideas about how to change it all. He told himself this. Forced himself to believe it. He wasn't going to sit around and wait for someone else to fix the problems. He couldn't do that anymore. He'd been doing that long enough and, clearly, it didn't fucking work. Blaine had woken him up. He had to stop feeling sorry for himself, because really, he was far from the worst off.

He stumbled into the kitchen and splashed his face with cold water, then took a few deep breaths and let the clear droplets slide off him. He felt a bit calmer. As he walked steadily into the bathroom to relieve himself, Jesse looked at his reflection in the mirror. He took in his strong physique, his attractive features. His youth. His wealth. His gender. His religion, or lack thereof. His attraction to women. His white skin. He was privileged, Jesse realised, sickeningly so. He knew what Blaine had meant now.

He found himself back in the living room, sitting down carefully, his strong hands gripping the arms of the chair to keep himself still. His eyes were fixed on a tiny mark on the floor, a dull brown chink against the light gold wood. Most people wouldn't even notice it. Those who did wouldn't consider it beyond a brief moment. Those who did consider it would assume it was old gravy dribble, clumsy ink splodge or dark red wine splatter. Jesse was the only one who knew what it was. It was blood.

Rachel had caught her finger. So simple. Scarlet liquid fell out of her. Some went on her dress. Some on Jesse. And some on the floor. She'd cried out. Surprise. Sudden. Pain. Jesse stopped the bleeding. He bathed it, wrapped it. Only a little blood, she protested. He bared his teeth. Like Dracula, he growled. Joking. She laughed. Ducked her head. Stop, no, she giggled. He silenced her with a kiss.

All so long ago, now.

That used to be the extent of their problems. But her world had gotten so sharp. And Jesse could no longer stop the bleeding.

* * *

All eyes were on her. She knew they weren't all looking just at her. She knew they were watching the others, too. She knew she was being paranoid; she knew she was no different to the other people here. And yet, there was an undeniable sense of something all about her. She felt thoroughly distinct and she decided that she didn't like it.

Her pace quickened, but not so much so as to seem suspicious. She could feel her heart beating hard, her breath sputtering out in little coughs and gasps. Terrified that this would give something away, she tried to supress it, tried to hold her breath, but this made her throat seize up and her eyes water as her lungs ached for air.

She glanced around, the world blurring before her, and she hastily ducked her head. Crying was the last thing she could do. They couldn't see her breaking. As she continued on her way, more and more people just seemed to appear all around her. Was it all because of her? Were they all here because she was here? No, that was ridiculous. Then why were they all looking at her? They weren't looking at her. They were. They weren't. They were. Why were they looking at her? The questions ran around her head, faster and faster, sprinting like fire until her brain was burning. Could her uncried tears put out these flames? She pondered this briefly, her neck growing stiff from staring at the ground for so long. But she didn't dare look up.

She'd endured worse than this. She still was. A little stiffness in her neck was nothing to her anymore; in fact, she welcomed it! It was so fantastically normal. She remembered those days of the past when this sort of pain had actually hurt; she remembered them with a heart shattering clarity. She knew those days were over. They should still be going on, right now, but something stronger and bigger than her and all she'd ever known had intervened, and executed that life before it had even played itself out.

And now, life was just the strangest sensation. She was in the same place. So much was missing and so much had been added. All change. And not for the better.

It couldn't possibly change back. Well, obviously - that wasn't possible - she knew that - what she meant was that even if somehow it did change, physically and politically, it would never go back to how it was. It would only be skin deep.

She breathed deep, one last time.

She jumped.

* * *

**_ok so what did you think...? let me know, REVIEW!_**

**_PS sorry for the lack of kurt. that will be made up in the next chapters, I promise._**

**_PPS - the salt water experiments on travellers in the camps were all too real, I'm afraid._**

**_once again, I'm very sorry. sorry sorry sorry._**


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